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THE 


THEOKY  OF   MOEALS 


BY 


PAUL    JANET 

MEMBER  OF  THE  INSTITUTE 
AUTHOR  OP    "  FINAL  CAUSES,"    ETC. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  LATEST  FRENCH  EDITION 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1883 


1$  3/ &.&<?'"' 


Copyright,  1883,  bt 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


2  ^3  // 


JFranftlfn  $««»: 

RAND,  AVERY,  AND  COMPANY, 
BOSTON. 


PU  BLISH  E  RS'     NOTE. 


This  work,  translated  by  Miss  Mary  Chapman, 
under  the  supervision  of  President  Noah  Porter  of 
Yale  College,  from  the  latest  edition  of  Professor 
Janet's  La  Morale  (Paris,  1874),  ls  published  by 
arrangement  with  and  under  the  authority  of  the 
author.  \N  ^  vs  S 


PREFACE. 


TN  my  Elements  of  Morals,  published  some  years  ago  [1869],  I 
-*■  sought  to  present  such  of  the  clearest  and  most  useful  results 
of  moral  science  as  would  be  accessible  to  all  minds,  especially 
those  of  the  young.  I  avoided  all  delicate  discussions  and  too 
abstruse  researches.  In  the  volume  which  I  now  publish,  and 
which  has  only  a  few  pages  in  common  with  the  other,  I  have,  on 
the  contrary,  endeavored  to  go  back  to  first  principles,  and  to 
define,  with  some  precision,  the  fundamental  ideas  of  morals ; 
finally,  to  present  a  systematic  and  well-connected  exposition  of 
them  ;  not  forgetting,  however,  the  wise  precept  of  Aristotle,  that 
one  should  expect  from  any  science  only  that  degree  of  exactness 
of  which  it  is  capable. 

While  I  have  not  neglected  to  consult  my  predecessors,1  and  to 
draw  inspiration  from  their  researches,  I  have  done  every  thing  in 
my  power  to  add  something  to  them.  I  believe  that  I  have  intro- 
duced, or  brought  back,  into  the  science,  some  elements  which 
have  been  too  much  neglected ;  that  I  have  elucidated  some  diffi- 
culties ;  offered  some  solutions  and  suggested  some  subjects  for 
investigation.  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  done  every  thing  that 
can  be  done,  but  I  believe  that  I  have  done  my  best. 

1  Not  to  mention  too  many  names,  I  will  refer  merely  to  the  celebrated 
work  Du  Devoir  by  M.  Jules  Simon;  La  Science  Morale  by  M.  Renouvier;  La 
Philosophic  du  Devoir  by  M.  Ferraz;  La  Morale  pour  tous  by  M.  Ad.  Franck;  La 
Morale  IndCpendante  by  Mme.  C.  Coignet;  Principes  de  la  Morale  considCre'e 
comme  Science  by  M.  E.  "Wiart;  La  Morale  Psychologique  by  M.  Herrenscbneider 
(C.  rendus  de  VAc.  des  «c.  mor.  etpol.,  1871). 

iii 


IV  PREFACE. 

The  development  of  my  principles,  and  the  arguments  support- 
ing them,  will  be  found  in  the  succeeding  chapters  ;  but  it  seemed 
to  me  well  to  collect  them  first  in  a  sort  of  anticipatory  synthesis, 
so  that  those  who  have  read  the  book  might  see  their  unity,  and 
those  who  are  about  to  read  it  might  more  readily  perceive  this. 
Still,  I  demand  that  judgment  should  not  be  passed  upon  bare 
formulas,  but  should  be  suspended  until  they  are  explained  by 
development  or  discussion. 

My  fundamental  principle  is,  that  moral  good  presupposes  a 
natural  good  which  is  anterior  to  it,  and  serves  as  its  foundation. 

If  all  the  objects  of  our  actions  were  indifferent  in  themselves, 
as  the  Stoics  claim,  it  would  be  impossible  to  understand  why  we 
should  be  under  obligation  to  seek  for  one  rather  than  for  another, 
and  the  moral  law  would  be  void  of  all  content. 

These  natural  goods,  anterior  to  moral  good,  and  which  are  to 
become  the  objects  of  choice,  are  not  to  be  estimated  according  to 
the  pleasure  which  they  procure  for  us,  but  according  to  an  intrinsic 
character,  which  I  call  their  excellence,  and  which  is  independent 
of  our  way  of  feeling. 

It  was  from  this  point  of  view  that  the  ancients  very  justly 
divided  goods  into  three  classes — exterior  goods,  corporeal  goods, 
and  the  goods  of  the  soul  —  and  that  they  regarded  the  goods  of 
the  soul  as  superior  to  those  of  the  body,  and  the  latter  as  superior 
to  external  goods. 

The  most  excellent  thing  in  man  is,  then,  the  excellence  of  his 
soul,  of  the  highest  and  best  part  of  his  nature  —  his  personality ; 
that  is,  his  reasonable  will. 

But  the  excellence  of  personality  does  not  consist  merely  in  it- 
self :  it  consists  also  in  its  union  with  the  personality  of  other 
men  —  that  is  to  say,  in  fraternity  —  and  also  in  its  devotion  to 
impersonal  goods,  such  as  the  beautiful,  the  true,  and  the  holy. 

This  ideal  excellence  of  the  human  person  is  what  is  called  per- 
fection, and  we  may  say  with  Wolf  that  good  is  perfection. 

But,  though  I  make  a  distinction  between  good  and  pleasure,  it 
does  not  follow  that  pleasure  is  not  a  good.     For  I  admit  with 


PREFACE.  V 

Aristotle,  that  pleasure  is  inseparable  from  action,  that  the  noblest 
action  gives  the  noblest  pleasure,  and  that  perfection  is  in  itself 
a  source  of  happiness.  It  is  in  this  sense  that  I  would  say  with 
Aristotle,  Malebranche,  Leibnitz,  etc.,  that  good  is  happiness. 

A  good  for  man  must  be  his  own  good :  the  Utilitarians  saw 
this  clearly.  It  would  be  a  contradiction  that  any  being  should 
be  under  obligation  to  pursue  an  end  contrary  to  his  nature.  All 
laws  have  for  their  object  the  advantage  of  the  subjects  to  whom 
they  are  laws.  Could  moral  law  alone  be  a  detriment  to  those 
whom  it  commands?  It  is  impossible  to  admit  this.  In  such  a 
case  it  would  be  a  law  of  tyranny,  not  of  justice  and  of  love. 

Thus  good  is  also  happiness.  But  happiness  is  not  what  Ben- 
tham  would  make  it  —  a  calculation,  a  choice,  a  combination  of 
pleasures.  It  is  the  highest  joy,  the  purest  pleasure,  adequate  to 
the  highest  excellence. 

The  doctrine  of  perfection,  and  the  doctrine  of  happiness,  which 
are  at  base  identical,  do  not  exclude  the  doctrine  of  duty.  Duty 
is  the  law  which  requires  us  to  strive  for  our  own  perfection  — 
that  is  to  say,  our  true  happiness. 

As  there  is  a  true  happiness  and  a  false  one — the  former  result- 
ing from  the  excellence  of  our  nature,  the  latter  from  our  satisfied 
sensibility  —  it  is  clear  that  there  may  be  an  obligation  to  seek  for 
that  which  is  true,  and  sacrifice  that  which  is  false.  This  is  what 
all  moralists  mean  by  contrasting  true  and  false  goods,  and  advis- 
ing men  to  strive  for  the  first,  and  not  the  second. 

As  man  naturally  desires  good,  one  part  of  his  nature  desires 
true  good,  and  the  other  desires  also  the  appearance  of  good. 
Now,  the  will  which  desires  the  true  good  commands  the  will  which 
desires  apparent  good  :  this  command  is  moral  obligation.  Thus 
I  admit  with  Kant  the  autonomy  of  the  will,  as  the  legislative 
principle  of  morality. 

Although  the  law  is  obligatory  in  itself,  it  is  so  for  us  only  in  so 
far  as  we  know  it,  and  to  the  extent  to  which  we  know  it.  Thus 
I  accept  this  principle  of  Fichte's  morality :  "Obey  that  conviction 
of  your  duty  which  you  actually  have."     In  other  words,  Obey 


VI  PREFACE. 

your  conscience.  But  this  rule  implies  as  a  postulate,  that  each 
one  shall  do  his  utmost  to  bring  his  actual  conscience  into  the 
state  of  an  absolute  conscience,  which  would  be  identical  with 
the  law  itself. 

Since  natural  and  essential  good  is  the  basis  of  duty,  I  admit 
with  Kant  that  moral  good  is,  on  the  contrary,  its  consequence. 
This  justifies  the  double  proposition,  Duty  consists  in  doing  good : 
Good  consists  in  doing  one's  duty.  In  other  words,  duty  consists 
in  striving  after  that  which  is  naturally  good ;  and  an  action 
which  is  morally  good  is  the  one  which  is  performed  for  the  sake 
of  duty. 

In  my  opinion,  as  in  that  of  Kant,  the  domains  of  good  and  of 
duty  are  absolutely  equivalent.  I  agree  with  him,  that  to  desire 
to  rise  above  duty  is  moral  fanaticism.  But  this  liberty  which  I 
deny  as  existing  beyond  the  moral  law,  I  find  within  the  limits  of 
the  law  itself ;  and  I  admit  the  existence  of  a  moral  initiative, 
which  cannot  change  the  law  in  any  way,  but  which  constantly 
creates  and  modifies  the  means  of  fulfilling  it. 

In  accordance  with  these  principles,  I  reject  the  received  dis- 
tinction between  definite  and  indefinite  duties.  In  my  opinion,  no 
duty  can  be  indefinite  in  the  sense  that  one  may  fulfil  it  or  not  ac- 
cording as  he  pleases.  Thus  every  duty  is  definite  as  to  its  form; 
but,  in  their  application,  duties  are  definite  or  indefinite  according 
to  the  objects  which  compose  their  subject-matter. 

From  what  has  already  been  said,  it  will  be  seen  that  I  do  not 
agree  with  Kant  that  virtue  is  merely  the  force  of  resolution.  It 
is  more  than  that;  and  Aristotle  was  correct  in  saying  that  "  the 
virtuous  man  is  he  who  finds  pleasure  in  performing  virtuous  acts." 

By  means  of  virtue  man  acquires  a  certain  value,  in  addition 
to  that  which  he  had  received  from  nature.  We  say,  then,  that 
he  has  merit.  Merit  is,  therefore,  the  value  which  a  man  adds  to 
himself  by  the  constant,  or  even  the  passing,  effort  of  his  will. 
Demerit  is  the  contrary.  It  is  not  merely  the  absence  of  merit : 
it  is  a  loss,  a  diminution,  an  abasement. 

Thus  the  words  merit  and  demerit  do  not  represent  to  my  mind 


PREFACE.  yii 

ideas  of  relation ;  that  is  to  say,  the  relation  of  the  moral  agent 
to  reward  or  punishment.  They  have  a  meaning  of  their  own, 
and  they  express  the  increase  or  diminution  of  the  internal  value 
of  the  moral  agent  by  the  action  of  his  will.  This  increase  in 
value  is  attested  by  moral  satisfaction  and  by  the  esteem  of  men. 
Diminution,  on  the  contrary,  is  attested  by  remorse  and  contempt. 

If  happiness  is  identical  with  good,  and  if  virtue  is  the  practice 
of  good  accompanied  by  pleasure,  then  we  may  say  with  Spinoza, 
that  happiness  is  not  the  reward  of  virtue,  but  that  it  is  virtue 
itself.  In  other  words,  I  admit,  with  the  Stoics,  that  virtue  is  its 
own  reward. 

Is  this  equivalent  to  saying  that  there  is  no  moral  sanction? 
Quite  the  contrary.  But  while  a  legal  sanction  is  exterior  to  the 
law,  and  has  for  its  aim  the  securing  of  its  efficacy  by  external 
means,  moral  sanction  is  included  in  the  law  itself,  and  is  the 
guaranty  of  its  justice.  For  a  law  which  should  command  an 
agent  to  sacrifice  his  happiness  to  that  of  other  men,  and  which 
would  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  the  agent  —  such  a  law  would 
destroy  itself,  by  making  us  do  to  ourselves  what  it  would  forbid 
us  to  do  to  others. 

The  future  life  should  not  be  considered  as  a  recompense,  but 
as  the  peaceable  enjoyment  of  the  only  thing  which  has  any  value 
—  perfection.  Properly  speaking,  it  is  not  a  recompense,  but  a 
deliverance. 

Immortality  is  not  individual,  but  it  is  personal.  The  person  is 
not  the  individual.  The  individual  is  composed  of  all  the  special 
accidents  which  distinguish  one  man  from  another.  Those  acci- 
dents perish  with  us :  they  are  the  Jlesh.  The  person  is  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  impersonal  —  the  spirit. 

Morality  leads  to  religion,  which  is  simply  belief  in  the  divine 
goodness.  If  the  world  is  not  derived  from  good,  and  does  not  go 
to  good,  virtue  is  a  powerless  chimera.  Practical  faith  in  the 
existence  of  God  is,  then,  what  Kant  has  called  it,  the  postulate  of 
the  moral  law. 

This  is  the  theory  which  will  be  found  unfolded  in  the  following 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

pages.  If  it  is  desired  to  give  any  name  to  this  doctrine  —  which 
is  not  unimportant  for  the  sake  of  giving  fixity  to  ideas — it  might 
be  called  a  sort  of  rational  eudmmonism,  opposed  on  the  one  hand 
to  utilitarian  eudaemonism,  and  on  the  other  to  the  too  abstract 
formalism  of  Kant's  morality,  yet  at  the  same  time  reconciling 
the  two.  This  theory  seems  to  me  not  only  true,  but  also  the  one 
in  closest  conformity  with  tradition.  It  is  that  of  Plato  and  Aris- 
totle, of  Descartes  and  of  Leibnitz,  and  contains  nothing  which 
does  not  agree  perfectly  with  what  Bentham  calls  deontology,  that 
is,  the  science  of  duty.  I  strongly  approve,  and  I  have  attempted 
to  follow,  the  method  which  is  called  conciliatory,  and  which  is 
simply  eclecticism,  properly  defined.  Without  this  method,  phi- 
losophy will  be  but  a  series  of  revolutions,  each  new-comer 
overturning  the  work  of  his  predecessors,  and  being  in  his  turn 
overthrown  by  his  successors ;  while  true  science  is,  on  the  con- 
trary, composed  of  successive  acquisitions,  which  are  added  to- 
gether and  complete  each  other.  We  do  not  say  that  a  man  is 
enriching  himself  if  he  casts  one  fortune  into  the  sea  to  prepare 
to  make  another,  but  we  say  so  if  he  preserves  and  increases 
what  he  already  has.  Thus  Kant's  morality  should  be  retained  in 
science ;  but  it  should  rest  upon  the  morality  of  Aristotle,  which 
it  ought  not  to  cast  aside :  and,  in  the  reconciliation  of  these  two 
systems,  a  noble  and  enlightened  Utilitarianism,  like  that  of  J.  S. 
Mill,  should  find  full  satisfaction. 

Such  is  the  spirit,  such  are  the  conclusions,  of  this  volume, 
which  I  ask  permission  to  call  my  Magna  Moralia,  in  honor  of 
Aristotle,  who  has  so  often  inspired  me,  and  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  small  elementary  treatise  on  morality  which  preceded  it,  and 
of  which  it  is  the  crown. 

Pabis,  Oct.  18, 1873. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS 1 

BOOK  FIEST. 

CHAPTER  I. 
Pleasure  and  Good 9 

CHAPTER  n. 
Good  and  Law      .  25 

CHAPTER  m. 
The  Principle  op  Excellence,  or  op  Perfection      ...     45 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Principle  of  Happiness 69 

CHAPTER  V. 
Impersonal  Goods 89 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  True,  the  Good,  and  the  Beautiful 106 

CHAPTER  VH. 
Absolute  Good .       .    119 


BOOK  SECOND. 

CHAPTER  I. 
Nature  and  Basis  of  the  Moral  Law 137 

CHAPTER  II. 
Good  and  Duty 175 

CHAPTER  III.       . 

Definite  and  Indefinite  Duties 190 

ix 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IV.  PAGE 

Right  and  Duty 210 

CHAPTER  V. 
Division  of  Duties 223 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Conflict  of  Duties 242 

BOOK  THIED. 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  Moral  Consciousness 261 

CHAPTER  II. 
Moral  Intention 275 

CHAPTER  III. 
Moral  Probabilism      .....' 292 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Universality  of  Moral  Principles 309 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Moral  Sentiment 353 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Liberty     .  364 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Kant's  Theory  of  Liberty 386 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Virtue 401 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Moral  Progress 416 

CHAPTER  X. 
Sin 429 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Merit  and  Demerit.  —  The  Sanctions  of  the  Moral  Law      .    448 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Religion 472 


>t   LIB/14*;? 

HE 


UNIVERSITY 
THEORY  OF  MORALS. 


nnHE  philosopher  Schleiermacher  has  resolved  all  moral 
■*-  ideas  into  three  fundamental  ones,  which  are  too  fre- 
quently confounded  —  the  idea  of  good,  the  idea  of  duty  and 
the  idea  of  virtue  ;  and  has  taken  this  distinction  as  the  basis 
of  his  theory  of  morals.  This  analysis  appears  to  me  cor- 
rect; and  I  shall  make  use  of  it,  though  I  shall  give  it  a 
free  interpretation.  In  fact,  in  every  moral  action  one  can 
and  should  distinguish  three  things :  First,  an  object,  or  an 
end  to  be  pursued  and  attained ;  this  is  what  is  called  the 
good :  Second,  an  agent,  who  performs  the  good,  and  thus 
acquires  a  habit  or  quality,  which  is  called  virtue  :  Third  and 
last,  a  law,  which  determines  the  relation  of  the  agent  to  the 
end ;  and  this  law  is  duty.  In  contrast  with  these  three  fun- 
damental ideas,  there  are  three  exactly  contrary  ideas, — 
evil,  vice  and  interdiction  or  prohibition. 

These  ideas  may  be  said  to  follow  each  other  and  to  be 
linked  together  in  the  following,  order:  good,  duty,  virtue. 
Virtue,  indeed,  according  to  the  most  generally  accepted  defi- 
nition, consists  in  fulfilling  one's  duty ;  that  is  to  say,  in  fol- 
lowing that  rule  of  action  which  our  reason  commands  or 
advises.  Duty,  in  its  turn,  consists  in  doing  that  which  is 
good :  it  is  the  rule  of  action  required  of  us  by  the  practice 
of  good.  Thus  virtue  presupposes  duty,  and  duty  presup- 
poses good.  If  there  were  nothing  good,  there  would  be  no 
rule  of  action  to  teach  us  to  choose  one  object  rather  than 

l 


2  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

another :  there  would  be  no  duty.  If  there  were  no  duty,  or 
rule  of  action,  there  would  be  no  virtue ;  that  is  to  say,  no 
enlightened  choice  between  good  and  evil.  Hence  an  en- 
lightened choice  of  good  —  that  is  to  say,  virtue — presupposes 
a  rule  of  choice,  or  duty,  which,  again,  presupposes  a  reason 
for  the  choice,  —  that  is  to  say,  a  good. 

Hence  arise  three  problems  :  What  is  good  ?  What  is  duty  ? 
What  is  virtue  ?  We  have  just  given  what  is  called  in  the 
schools  the  nominal  definition  of  each :  we  must  now  seek  to 
find  the  real  definition.  It  was  necessary  to  begin  with  the 
former,  for  otherwise  we  could  not  know  what  to  seek  after. 
But  we  ought  also  to  obtain  the  second,  and  this  is  the  true 
object  of  our  science.  The  first  gives  us  only  a  name  for  the 
object :  the  second  should  teach  us  the  nature  of  that  object. 

Moral  science  has  often  been  accused  of  turning  in  a  vicious 
circle.  What  is  good  ?  it  asks.  It  is  to  do  one's  duty.  What 
is  it  to  do  one's  duty  ?  It  is  to  do  that  which  is  good.  Thus 
good  is  defined  by  duty,  and  duty  by  good.  But  this  circle 
is  only  apparent:  the  word  good  does  not  have  the  same 
meaning  in  these  two  applications.  In  the  first  case  one 
understands  by  good,  moral  good,  that  is  to  say,  the  good 
accomplished  by  a  free  and  enlightened  agent,  that  is  to  say, 
virtue ;  and  it  is  quite  true,  that  good  thus  understood  and 
defined  consists  in  doing  one's  duty.  In  the  second  case 
one  understands  the  word  good  to  mean  good  in  itself,  that 
which  is  naturally  and  essentially  good,  that  which  is  ante- 
rior and  superior  to  my  will ;  in  other  words,  the  final  and 
pre-eminently  desirable  end.  Now,  it  is  certain  that  duty  con- 
sists in  striving  after,  and  if  possible  procuring  for  ourselves, 
such  a  good  as  this.  There  is  here  no  trace  of  a  vicious 
circle. 

Let  us  express  in  another  way  the  three  fundamental  ideas 
of  moral  science,  and  the  relations  by  which  they  are  mutu- 
ally connected. 

Every  action  necessarily  has  an  object.  It  is  impossible 
to  will  without  choosing  something.     To  choose  nothing  is  the 


THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS.  3 

same  as  not  to  will  at  all.  Now  if,  among  the  objects  of  our 
desires,  there  were  not  some  which  in  themselves  and  before 
any  act  of  willing  were  good  or  evil,  there  would  be  no 
reason  for  choosing  one  rather  than  another.  There  must, 
then,  be  one  p^rt  of  moral  science  —  and  it  will  be  the  basis 
of  all  the  rest — which  is  logically  anterior  to  all  considera- 
tions derived  from  the  agent  or  the  subject :  there  is  a  moral 
science  the  chief  aim  of  which  is  to  determine  the  nature  of 
the  object  of  the  choices ;  this  we  call  objective  moral  science. 

Whatever  may  be  the  nature  of  that  object  which  we  call 
good,  it  can  be  obtained  by  an  agent  only  in  accordance  with 
certain  conditions  which  depend  upon  the  nature  of  that 
agent.  In  moral  science,  as  in  metaphysics,  we  must  distin- 
guish the  object  from  the  subject.  The  term  good,  in  fact, 
can  never  be  applied  except  as  something  known,  desired, 
wished,  by  a  subject.1  This  subject  is  called  the  agent.  From 
this  results  a  whole  series  of  phenomena  belonging  to  the 
subject,  frbm  which  it  follows  that  good  in  the  subject  is 
never  absolutely  identical  with  good  as  it  exists  in  the  object. 
Undoubtedly  one  might  imagine  a  moral  subject  who  should 
at  last  become  identified  with  his  object,  good  ;  but  this  would 
be  only  an  ideal  conception.  In  reality,  there  is  always  a  di- 
vergence between  good  as  it  is  represented,  conceived,  wished, 
by  the  subject,  and  good  in  the  abstract.  There  is,  then,  a 
part  of  moral  science  which  relates  to  the  agent,  and  which 
may  be  called  subjective. 

And  yet,  although  the  subject  always  modifies  the  object 
more  or  less  in  taking  it  into  his  intelligence  or  feelings,  this 
is  not  always  done  arbitrarily  and  intentionally :  for  this 
would  be  to  destroy  the  very  idea  of  an  object ;  that  is  to 
say,  of  good.  The  nature  of  good  being,  in  itself,  independ- 
ent of  the  subject,  it  should  impress  itself  upon  the  subject 
in  an  absolute  manner,  taking  no  account  of  its  individual 
modifications.      From  this  results  a  general  law,  or  law  of 

1  According  to  the  scholastic  axiom:  "  Quidquid  recipitur  secundem  naturam 
recipientis  recipitur" 


4  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

duty,  which  is,  in  a  certain  sense,  as  Kant  has  expressed  it, 
the  form  of  our  actions,  and  which  applies  with  uniformity 
to  every  will,  presenting  itself  in  all  our  actions  with  a  per- 
manent character.  Hence  arises  another  part  of  moral  sci- 
ence, formal  moral  science,  which  serves  as  a  »bond  between 
the  other  two,  and  a  transition  from  one  to  the  other ;  form 
being  in  reality  a  sort  of  intermediate  term  between  the 
object  and  the  subject. 

Thus  objective  moral  science  will  be  the  theory  of  good ; 
formal  moral  science  will  be  the  theory  of  duty ;  subjective 
moral  science  will  be  the  theory  of  morality  or  of  virtue. 

However  plausible  the  preceding  deductions  may  appear, 
they  will  encounter  objections  in  some  schools  of  moral  sci- 
ence. One  whole  class  of  moralists  regards  moral  science  as 
being  exclusively  subjective ;  good  is  only  a  state  and  a  mod- 
ification of  the  subject;  law  is  only  a  manner  of  choosing 
and  combining  the  various  sensations,  that  is  to  say,  the 
various  subjective  states  of  the  agent.  For  these  moralists 
neither  objective  nor  formal  moral  science  has  any  existence. 
They  are  the  partisans  of  pleasure  or  of  utility. 

For  others,  on  the  contrary,  moral  science  cannot  be  re- 
duced to  subjective  modifications  without  destroying  itself; 
for  all  morality  presupposes  a  rule,  a  law,  a  universal  form  for 
actions.  Thus  there  is  a  formal  moral  science  which  is  higher 
than  the  subjective :  it  is  the  moral  science  of  duty.  But  the 
moral  science  of  duty  presupposes  nothing  anterior  to  itself. 
Duty  is  its  reason,  its  essential  principle.  According  to  Kant, 
to  give  morality  any  other  object  than  law  is  to  destroy  its 
very  idea.  In  this  system  there  is  no  objective  moral  science : 
I  will  add  that  it  admits  no  subjective  moral  science.  Kant 
never  considered  any  thing  but  abstract,  pure,  and  ideal  law 
in  relation  to  an  abstract  agent.  He  never  inquired  what 
would  be  the  result  if  this  law  were  brought  into  relation 
with  a  real  and  concrete  agent,  and  passed  through  a  human 
conscience.  In  a  word,  he  confined  himself,  and  chose  to 
confine  himself,  to  the  formal  portion  of  moral  science. 


THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS.  5 

Before  explaining  my  own  ideas  of  good,  duty,  and  virtue, 
it  will  be  my  task  to  examine  the  points  of  view,  first,  of 
those  who  consider,  in  moral  science,  nothing  but  the  subject ; 
second,  of  those  who  consider  only  the  form  of  the  action,  i.e., 
the  philosophy  of  pleasure ;  and  the  philosophy  of  duty. 


BOOK  FIKST. 


THE    END    OB    GOOD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PLEASURE  AOT)  GOOD. 

"TTTHAT  is  good  ?  If  there  is  any  reply  to  this  question 
*  ^  which  is  universally  accepted  by  mankind,  it  would 
seem  that  it  must  be  this :  good  is  that  which  all  seek  and 
pursue,  it  is  that  which  all  would  possess  if  they  could  obtain 
it.  Now,  this  object  which  all  pursue,  with  or  without  reflec- 
tion, but  everywhere  and  always,  what  is  it  but  pleasure? 
Pleasure  is  the  good,  is  the  cry  of  nature.  All  animals  seek 
pleasure,  and  know  no  other  principle  of  action.  The  child 
is  sensitive  to  pleasure  only  :  the  grown  man,  with  more  ap- 
parent gravity,  has  no  other  object.  The  virtuous  man  him- 
self finds  pleasure  in  practising  virtue.  The  philosopher  who 
denies  and  refutes  the  doctrine  of  pleasure,  finds  pleasure  in 
refuting  it.  And  yej^i^_ple^isure  the_good?  The  noblest 
schools  of  philosophy  have  always  denied  that  it  is  so.  But, 
to  understand  this  question  properly,  it  must  be  distinguished 
from  two  others  which  are  frequently  confounded  with  it,  but 
which  are  entirely  distinct  from  it :  Is  pleasure  a  good  ?  Does 
pleasure  form  a  part  of  good  ?  Even  if  we  grant  that  pleasure 
is  a  good  (which,  indeed,  it  would  be  absurd  to  deny),  or, 
further,  that  it  is  a  necessary  condition  or  consequence  of 
good,  it  would  not  follow  that  it  was  the  sole  good,  the  true 
good,  the  whole  good :  this  is  the  point  which  we  must  ex- 
amine at  the  outset.  The  two  other  questions  will  come  up 
in  their  proper  place  in  the  course  of  these  studies.1 

We  may  assume  that  the  innumerable  analyses  made  before 
our  day  have  already  sufficiently  demonstrated  that  pleasure 

1  Chap,  iv.,  The  Principle  of  Happiness. 


10  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

by  itself  alone  is  incapable  of  serving  as  the  basis  for  any 
moral  science  whatever,  and  that  it  must  at  least  yield  this 
place  to  the  principle  of  utility.  In  fact,  pleasure  without 
bounds,  without  choice,  without  foresight ;  pleasure  taken  by 
chance,  and  according  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment;  pleasure 
sought  and  enjoyed  under  any  form  in  which  it  may  present 
itself;  a  brutal  and  sensual  pleasure  preferred  to  any  intellec- 
tual pleasure,  —  pleasure  thus  understood  destroys  itself ;  for 
experience  teaches  us  that  it  is  followed  by  pain,  and  is  trans- 
formed into  pain.  Such  a  principle  is,  then,  self-contradic- 
tory, and  falls  before  its  own  consequences.  Even  among 
the  ancients,  the  Epicureans,  who  maintained  the  philosophy 
of  pleasure,  distinguished  two  kinds  of  pleasure,  which  they 
called  the  stable  and  the  transitory.  They  had  observed  that 
the  pleasure  of  the  passions,  which  they  called  transitory 
pleasure,  was  a  mingled  one,  which,  disturbing  the  soul, 
caused  it  more  pain  than  joy :  repose,  peace,  insensibility,  ap- 
peared to  them  far  superior ;  and  in  their  view  the  paramount 
good  consisted  in  indolentia,  i.e.,  the  absence  of  suffering. 
It  has  therefore  been  rightly  said,  that  this  voluptuous  mo- 
rality of  Epicureanism,  apparently  so  seductive,  was  in  reality 
only  a  sad  and  gloomy  asceticism.  One  branch  of  this  school 
regarded  suicide  as  the  sovereign  good.  It  is  said  that  Lu- 
cretius acted  upon  the  precepts  of  this  sect.  That  these 
strange  consequences  were  the  result  of  the  philosophy  of 
voluptuousness  shows  clearly,  that,  unless  some  intellectual 
element  is  joined  with  it,  the  principle  of  pleasure  is  by 
itself  utterly  incapable  of  regulating  and  purifying  the  use 
and  enjoyment  of  pleasure  itself. 

Plato  has  demonstrated  in  his  "  Theaetetus,"  that  pleasure, 
without  a  certain  admixture  of  intelligence  and  wisdom,  is 
as  though  it  were  not.  In  fact,  without  intelligence  there 
could  be  no  memory,  no  foresight;  we  should  find  our- 
selves deprived  of  both  past  and  future  pleasures;  it  is 
doubtful  even  if  it  would  be  correct  to  say  that  one  can 
enjoy  present  pleasure  without  some  reflection.     Plato  has 


PLEASURE  AND   GOOD.  11 

also  proved  that  we  should  distinguish  between  true  and 
false  pleasures,  between  those  that  are  mixed  and  those  that 
are  pure,  between  the  noble  and  the  ignoble.  Finally,  he 
was  the  first  to  whom  occurred  the  idea  of  an  arithmetic  of 
pleasures,1  —  an  idea  which  Bentham  subsequently  applied 
with  great  sagacity. 

Bentham  has  shown  that  pleasures  may  be  compared  and 
classified  from  different  points  of  view,  the  principal  of 
which  are,  certainty,  purity,  duration,  intensity,  etc.  In- 
deed, between  two  pleasures,  one  of  which  is  certain,  and 
the  other  uncertain,  wisdom  and  experience  would  plainly 
teach  us  to  choose  the  former.  The  same  is  true  as  be- 
tween a  pleasure  which  is  pure  —  that  is,  without  any  ele- 
ment of  pain  —  and  a  pleasure  which  is  mixed ;  between  a 
pleasure  that  is  lasting,  and  one  which  is  fleeting  and  fugi- 
tive ;  between  a  pleasure  which  is  very  lively  and  intense, 
and  one  which  is  moderate  and  without  special  charm :  rea- 
son would  evidently  teach  us  to  prefer  purity,  durability,  and 
intensity.  Combine  now  these  different  relations,  add  the 
probable  number  of  pleasures,  and  you  will  be  enabled  to 
frame  rules  which  will  together  form  the  art  of  life,  and 
whose  effect  is  to  insure  us  that  which  is  popularly  called 
happiness ;  that  is,  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  pleasure 
with  the  least  possible  amount  of  pain. 

It  is  plain  that  this  art  is  purely  empirical,  that  it  does  not 
rise  for  an  instant  above  the  level  of  a  merely  subjective 
philosophy  ;  for  it  is  always  pleasure — that  is,  a  certain  state 
of  consciousness  —  which  is  the  sole  object,  the  sole  aim,  of 
human  life.  Thus,  there  is  no  other  object  than  our  own  sen- 
sations. There  is  also  no  law.  The  various  rules  which  this 
philosophy  offers  us  are  only  the  means  of  attaining  the 
desired  end,  of  obtaining  pleasure.  If  reason,  wisdom,  intel- 
ligence, are  added  to  sensation,  as  Plato  requires,  it  is  not 
that  they  may  command  pleasure,  but  that  they  may  serve 
it :  they  are  only  the  auxiliaries,  the  instruments,  of  pleasure. 

1  MeTprjTi/crj  Ti\vr\,  Protagoras,  367,  358.    ]£d.  H.  Iiltienne. 


12  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

This  philosophy  appears  to  rise  above  that  of  pure  sensation, 
assuming  the  title  of  the  philosophy  of  utility.  Like  the 
wisdom  of  the  vulgar,  it  teaches  us  to  prefer  the  useful  to 
the  agreeable,  prudence  to  passion.  But,  at  bottom,  the  use- 
ful is  never  a  good  by  and  in  itself:  it  is,  and  can  be,  only 
a  means  of  procuring  what  is  agreeable.  Prudence,  in  its 
turn,  is  merely  the  art  of  satisfying  one's  passions  with  impu- 
nity. 

The  Utilitarians  have  sometimes  complained  that  two 
opposite  faults  are  imputed  to  their  philosophy.  Sometimes, 
they  say,  we  are  reproached  for  unchaining  the  passions,  for 
drawing  men  away  into  an  impetuous  and  disorderly  wor- 
ship of  voluptuousness  and  the  senses:  sometimes,  on  the 
contrary,  we  are  accused  of  teaching  a  dry,  cold,  calculating 
morality,  which  extinguishes  all  the  sentiments,  all  the  emo- 
tions, all  the  impulses,  of  the  soul.  Is  not  this,  they  say,  a 
contradiction  ? 

This  contradiction  is  only  apparent.  It  is  equally  correct 
to  say  that  the  philosophy  of  pleasure  is  disorderly,  and  that 
it  is  withering ;  that  it  is  violent,  impetuous,  uncurbed ;  and 
that  it  is  dreary,  cold,  narrow:  these  accusations  are  both 
true,  according  as  we  have  in  view  uncalculating  or  calcu- 
lated pleasure.  A  voluptuous  and  passionate  philosophy, 
like  that  of  Aristippus  in  antiquity,  that  of  Callicles  in  Plato's 
"  Gorgias,"  or  that  of  some  modern  poets  and  romancers,  is, 
in  fact,  a  philosophy  which,  unchaining  all  the  passions,  lets 
loose  at  the  same  time  all  the  appetites.  It  opens  a  free 
pathway  for  the  senses,  and  thus  sometimes  descends  to 
shameful  excesses ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  in  freeing  the 
passions  from  all  restraint,  it  acquires  a  certain  sort  of  gran- 
deur—  the  fierce  grandeur  of  nature;  it  has  even  a  sort 
of  innocence  —  the  innocence  of  the  blind  torrent  which 
knows  not  whither  it  rushes ;  and  finally,  by  the  very  fact  of 
making  no  distinction  between  the  passions  and  pleasures, 
it  sometimes  gives  free  play  to  generous  instincts,  and  thus 
attains  a  nobility  which  is  lacking  in  cold  calculation  and 


PLEASURE  AND   GOOD.  13 

mercenary  virtue.  On  the  other  hand,  the  philosophy  of 
calculated  pleasures  is  superior  to  the  philosophy  of  passion, 
in  that  it  requires  both  the  passions  and  the  senses  to  submit 
to  restraint;  hence  it  is  more  respectable,  and  adapts  itself 
better  to  the  necessities  and  the  order  of  society.  It  may 
even  be  said,  speaking  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  and 
in  the  interest  of  the  common  order  of  life,  that  the  selfish 
philosophy  does  not  differ  greatly  from  the  philosophy  of 
duty,  save  in  its  maxims  and  principles.  But  while  from 
this  point  of  view  we  may  find  the  utilitarian  morality 
more  respectable  than  the  morality  of  passion,  on  the 
other  hand,  for  the  very  reason  that  it  subjects  passion  to 
calculation,  it  has  less  spontaneity,  less  nobility  and  gen- 
erosity, than  the  morality  of  passion.  Little  by  little  it 
makes  the  fear  of  suffering  dominate  the  desire  of  pleasure, 
and  to  avoid  one  it  dries  up  the  sources  of  the  other. 
Hence  comes  that  character  of  dryness  and  of  moral  pov- 
erty, of  which  the  Utilitarians  have  been  a  hundred  times 
accused.  Hence  comes  also  that  sort  of  melancholy  and 
empty  austerity  which  characterizes  an  egotistical  life,  and 
which  has  been  observed  in  Epicureanism.  Thus,  according 
as  the  philosophy  of  pleasure  inclines  toward  freedom  of  the 
passions,  or  toward  cold  calculation,  it  oscillates  between 
the  life  of  the  brutes,  or  the  death  in  life  of  a  stone  or  of  a 
corpse.  It  is,  therefore,  not  inconsistent  to  accuse  this  phi- 
losophy, sometimes  of  one,  sometimes  of  the  other,  of  these 
consequences.  It  may,  then,  be  said,  that  the  philosophy  of 
pleasure  refutes  the  philosophy  of  utility,  and  that  the  phi- 
losophy of  utility  refutes  the  philosophy  of  pleasure;  in 
other  words,  that  these  two  forms  of  the  same  principle 
refute  each  other.  On  the  one  hand,  the  partisans  of  utility 
admit  that  pleasure  alone  is  not  sufficient ;  else  why  are  they 
not  satisfied  with  it?  If  it  is  necessary  to  .make  a  choice 
between  pleasures,  it  is  because  pleasure  is  not  a  principle 
which  is  sufficient  in  itself.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  neither 
is  utility  a  principle ;  for  what  is  the  meaning  of  useful  t  That 


14  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

which  serves  some  purpose.  The  useful  is  a  means,  it  is  not 
an  end :  the  end  is  the  good ;  the  useful  is  only  the  means 
of  obtaining  it.  Now,  for  the  partisans  of  utility  this  end 
can  be  nothing  but  pleasure;  that  is,  the  very  principle 
whose  emptiness  they  have  shown.  If  pleasure  is  the  good, 
let  me  seek  it  as  I  understand  it :  the  philosophy  of  voluptu- 
ousness is,  then,  right  as  compared  with  the  utilitarian  phi- 
losophy. If,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  necessary  to  make  a 
choice  between  pleasures,  as  the  Utilitarians  maintain,  and 
as  the  very  idea  of  philosophy  requires,  then  I  need  a  reason 
for  making  that  choice;  and  this  reason  cannot  be  drawn 
from  the  pleasure  itself,  since  this  is  what  is  to  be  disciplined 
and  governed. 

Meanwhile  an  eminent  thinker  has  recently  endeavored 
to  give  a  new  turn  to  Utilitarianism : *  he  has  thought  that  he 
could  find  in  pleasure  itself  a  principle  capable  of  rising  above 
pleasure,  a  reason  for  choice  which  would  permit  us  to  differ- 
entiate and  graduate  our  pleasures  in  the  name  of  pleasure 
itself.  This  point  of  view  is  worthy  of  our  attention,  par- 
ticularly as  it  seems  to  approach  nearly  the  view  which  I 
shall  myself  suggest  in  the  following  chapters.  It  is  so 
much  the  more  important  to  state  in  what  respects  I  agree 
with  the  English  author,  and,  above  all,  in  what  I  differ  from 
him. 

Mr.  J.  Stuart  Mill  admits  that  most  Utilitarians  have 
made  the  mistake  of  estimating  true  goods  by  the  exterior 
advantages  which  they  procure  for  us,  instead  of  by  their  es- 
sential nature.  Thus,  they  advise  men  to  cultivate  pity  from 
the  fear  that  they  may  themselves  be  overtaken  by  misfor- 
tune ;  friendship,  for  the  sake  of  the  services  which  they  may 
expect  from  others ;  to  keep  their  promises  faithfully  in  ex- 
pectation of  a  just  reciprocity,  etc.  This  is  giving  too  great 
importance  to  the  consequences  of  the  acts,  instead  of  giving 
it  to  the  acts  themselves.  But  these  philosophers  could  not 
have  taken  a  nobler  stand-point  without  contradicting  the 

i  J.  Stuart  Mill,  Utilitarianism,  London,  1863. 


PLEASURE  AND   GOOD.  15 

principle  of  utility.  This  principle  does  not  forbid  us  to 
admit  that  certain  classes  of  pleasures  are  more  valuable  than 
others.  In  fact,  men  distinguish  quality  from  quantity  in 
every  thing.  Why  should  it  not  be  the  same  in  estimating 
pleasures?  The  Utilitarians  have  too  often  regarded  in  pleas- 
ure nothing  but  the  quantity;  i.e.,  duration,  certainty,  in- 
tensity, etc.  They  have  not,  indeed,  wholly  left  out  of  sight 
the  other  element;  as  we  see,  for  example,  that  the  Epicureans 
regarded  mental  as  superior  to  sensual  pleasures.  But  as  a 
general  thing,  especially  with  Bentham'  and  his  school,  good 
is  estimated  by  the  quantity  of  pleasures,  by  their  sum,  by 
their  intensity,  much  more  than  by  their  value  and  intrinsic 
worth.  This  is  the  reason  why  noble  and  refined  spirits  have 
had  so  little  respect  for  this  philosophy.  Mr.  Mill  admits  that 
it  cannot  be  altogether  justified:  but,  according  to  him,  this  is 
the  fault  of  the  philosophers,  not  of  the  principle ;  for  we  are 
not  obliged  to  measure  the  value  of  pleasure  by  such  ignoble 
standards.  The  reform  which  he  proposes  is,  therefore,  the 
introduction  of  the  principle  of  quality  into  the  estimation  of 
pleasures.  Thanks  to  this  new  principle,  his  philosophy  is 
broader  and  nobler.  He  does  not  confine  himself  to  pure 
Epicureanism,  but  thinks  that  it  is  necessary  to  introduce 
"  many  Stoic  as  well  as  Christian  elements." 1  Here  we  find  a 
Utilitarianism  of  a  very  different  sort  from  that  of  Bentham. 
In  fact,  reduced  to  these  terms,  the  discussion  is  merely  one 
of  theory.  For  myself,  I  see  no  difficulty  in  accepting  the 
theory  of  pleasure  when  thus  transformed ;  for  the  principal 
ground  of  my  objection  to  utilitarian  philosophy  is,  that  it 
considers  only  the  quantity  of  pleasures,  and  not  their  quality. 
Replace  one  by  the  other,  and  we  can  agree ;  but,  then,  has 
not  the  principle  been  changed  ?  Would  not  what  is  called 
the  quality  of  pleasures  be  identical  with  what  men  call  good, 
and  which  appears  to  them  a  rule  superior  to  pleasure  ? 

If  pleasure  is  the  good,  if  it  is  the  final  element  which  is 
reached  in  the  analysis  of  good,  two  pleasures  ought  not  to 

1  J.  Stuart  Mill,  Utilitarianism,  p.  11. 


16  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

be  distinguishable  one  from  the  other,  to  be  preferred  one  to 
another,  one  judged  better,  the  other  lesser,  unless  one  con- 
tains more  good  than  the  other,  — that  is  to  say,  more  pleasure : 
hence  two  pleasures  can  differ  only  by  quantity.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  you  say  of  two  pleasures  that  one  is  in  itself, 
and  by  its  own  nature,  better  than  the  other,  then  there  must 
be  something  aside  from  the  pleasure  itself  which  gives  one 
this  superiority  over  the  other.  The  quality  of  pleasure 
cannot  be  derived  from  the  pleasure  itself,  but  from  the  dif- 
ferent causes  which  produce  it ;  for,  among  so  many  pleas- 
ures, all  must  be  equal  unless  they  differ  in  quality.  If  they 
are  not  equal,  if  they  contain  more  or  less  of  nobility,  of 
purity,  of  refinement,  if  it  is  in  this  way  that  they  should  be 
distinguished  one  from  another  and  estimated,  then  it  fol- 
lows that  good  is  not  pleasure  as  such,  but  pleasure  in  so  far 
as  it  is  noble  or  refined:  consequently  good  is  this  some- 
thing noble  or  refined  which  places  certain  favored  pleasures 
above  all  others. 

The  able  author  admits  this  himself  when  he  says  that 
human  happiness  is  not  of  the  same  order  as  the  happiness 
of  animals,  because  it  is  derived  from  more  elevated  facul- 
ties.1 But  what  is  a  more  elevated  faculty?  Is  it  not  a 
faculty  which,  in  itself,  and  even  before  it  has  procured  us 
any  pleasure,  is  more  noble,  more  excellent,  better  than 
another?  There  is,  then,  a  principle  of  appreciation  apart 
from  pleasure ;  and  things  differ  in  degree,  in  excellence,  in 
intrinsic  worth,  even  before  they  differ  as  to  the  pleasure 
which  they  cause  us.  If  they  did  not  thus  differ  by  some 
intrinsic  excellence,  the  pleasures  derived  from  them  might 
differ  in  quantity,  but  not  in  quality.  Some  good  exists,  then, 
before  there  is  any  pleasure  :  and  the  pleasure  is  not  the  good, 
but  it  is  the  consequence  of  the  good ;  it  is  not  the  measure 
of  the  good,  but  is  itself  measured  by  the  good. 

Mr.  Mill  understood  clearly  the  difficulty  of  reconciling 

i  "  Human  beings  have  faculties  more  elevated  than  the  animal  appetites"  — 
Utilitarianism,  p.  11. 


PLEASURE  AND  GOOD.  17 

the  principle  of  pleasure,  taken  as  the  fundamental  principle 
of  moral  philosophy,  with  the  corrective  which  he  has  now 
added,  that  is,  the  choice  of  quality  in  pleasure.  He  sought 
a  criterion  by  which  to  distinguish  the  quality  of  pleasures 
without  giving  up  the  fundamental  principle  of  the  utilita- 
rian philosophy,  and  this  is  the  ingenious  method  which  he 
invented :  — 

"  If  I  am  asked  what  I  mean  by  the  difference  of  quality  in  pleasures, 
there  is  but  one  possible  answer.  Of  two  pleasures,  if  there  be  one  to 
which  all,  or  almost  all,  who  have  experience  of  both,  give  a  decided 
preference,  irrespective  of  any  feeling  of  moral  obligation,  and  prefer  it, 
that  is  the  more  desirable  pleasure.  If  one  of  the  two  is,  by  those  who 
are  competently  acquainted  with  both,  placed  so  far  above  the  other  that 
they  prefer  it,  even  though  knowing  it  to  be  attended  with  a  greater 
amount  of  discontent,  we  are  justified  in  ascribing  to  the  preferred  enjoy- 
ment a  superiority  in  quality,  so  far  outweighing  quantity,  as  to  render 
it,  in  comparison,  of  small  account." 1 

By  this  we  see  that  Mr.  Mill  seeks  to  discover  an  empiri- 
cal criterion  for  the  quality  of  pleasure  —  a  criterion  which 
shall  not  be  drawn  from  the  intrinsic  and  absolute  worth  of 
things,  but  only  from  the  general  estimate  of  mankind  :  and 
this  is  found,  in  his  opinion,  in  the  judgment  of  competent 
persons;  that  is  to  say,  of  those  who  have  experienced  the 
two  kinds  of  pleasure.  For  example,  a  common  debauchee 
or  a  greedy  speculator  might  despise  the  pleasures  of  science, 
art,  virtue ;  but  they  are  incompetent  judges,  Mr.  Mill  tells 
us ;  they  have  never  experienced  the  pleasures  which  they 
despise.  Very  good  ;  but  may  not  the  argument  be  applied 
conversely?  Would  a  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  or  a  Newton  be 
competent  to  estimate,  if  they  despise  sensual  pleasures,  the 
delights  of  wild  passions?  Might  not  libertines  maintain 
that  a  life  of  pleasure  has  joys  of  infinite  profundity  which 
ascetics  or  pedants  are  incapable  of  appreciating  ?  See,  in 
Plato's  "  Gorgias,"  with  what  poetical  enthusiasm  Callicles 
sings  the  praises  of  a  life  of  passion  and  the  right  of  the 

1  Utilitarianism,  p.  12. 


18  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

strongest,  and  in  what  a  ridiculous  and  contemptible  light 
he  exhibits  a  virtuous  and  temperate  life.  So,  too,  modern 
poets  have  sung  in  the  sweetest  strains  of  brigands  (vide 
Schiller),  of  corsairs  (vide  Byron),  etc.;  and  are  moralists 
thoroughly  competent  to  appreciate  the  pleasures  which  may 
be  found  in  these  wild,  rebellious  lives?  Thus,  saints  and 
wise  men  would  be  rejected  as  incompetent  judges  by  those 
whose  passions  and  vices  they  condemn. 

Again,  do  we  not  see  very  great  men  (Julius  Caesar,  Mira- 
beau,  Fox)  who  experienced  at  once  both  kinds  of  pleasures, 
those  of  the  mind  and  spirit,  and  those  of  the  passions  and  the 
senses,  who,  far  from  sacrificing  the  one  to  the  other,  sought 
relaxation  throughout  their  lives  by  passing  from  one  to  the 
other?  They  were  competent  judges,  but  their  competence 
would  only  teach  us  that  each  kind  of  pleasure  is  good  in  its 
own  time.  Others,  again  (like  Augustine  and  Ranee'),  have 
passed  from  passion  to  virtue,  from  an  irregular  to  a  pious 
life.  Assuredly,  in  their  second  mode  of  life  they  held  the 
first  in  detestation ;  but  their  competency  might  be  contested : 
they  did  not  undergo  the  two  experiences  in  the  same  condi- 
tions. While  they  were  young  they  gave  themselves  up  to 
pleasure :  it  was  when  they  were  mature,  or  old,  when  their 
passions  were  deadened,  their  fire  quenched,  that  their  eager 
and  active  spirits  sought  for  other  objects.  It  does  not  neces- 
sarily follow  that  the  second  kind  of  pleasures  was  more 
desirable  than  the  first. 

It  is  not,  then,  by  the  tastes  of  those  who  enjoy  that  we 
can  judge  of  the  quality  of  pleasure ;  but  it  is  the  quality  of 
the  pleasure  that  decides  the  worth  of  our  tastes,  and  gives 
them  differing  values  in  the  estimation  of  mankind.  Again, 
if  pleasures  differ  in  quality,  it  is  not  because  some  give 
more  pleasure  than  others,  even  to  competent  judges  (which 
would  be  in  reality  estimating  the  quality  by  the  quantity) ; 
but  it  is  because  they  are  derived  from  purer  sources,  and,  as 
Mr.  Mill  has  well  expressed  it,  because  they  come  to  us  from 
nobler  and  more  elevated  faculties.     It  must  be  that  there 


PLEASURE  AND   GOOD.  19 

are  goods  which  have  a  certain  excellence  within  themselves, 
since  the  pleasures  connected  with  them  appear  to  us  more  or 
less  excellent. 

But,  it  will  be  objected,  those  goods  which  you  call  excel- 
lent in  themselves,  which  are  so  by  an  intrinsic  perfection, 
are  in  a  final  analysis  simply  something  desirable,  either  for 
yourself  or  for  others:  you  call  them  goods,  because  they  are 
able  to  procure  pleasure  to  some  of  your  fellow-creatures, 
to  the  most  enlightened  men,  or,  if  you  will,  to  angelic 
creatures,  etc.  Thus,  what  you  call  intrinsic  excellence  is 
nothing  more  than  the  power  of  procuring  pleasure. 

I  answer,  that  even  if  good  is  defined  as  "  that  which  is 
desirable,"  we  must  first  determine  what  is  meant  by  the 
word  desirable.  For  it  does  not  mean  here  that  which  is 
actually  desired,  but  that  which  is  worthy  of  being  desired, 
and  ought  to  be  desired.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  do  not  find 
that  men  in  general  seek  most  eagerly  the  most  desirable 
goods.  The  majority  care  more  for  fortune  or  for  comfort 
than  for  the  noblest  goods' — family,  country,  science,  religion. 
Nevertheless,  we  consider  these  latter  goods  as  superior  to 
the  others,  as  more  desirable  and  more  excellent.  Even  when 
we  do  not  find  ourselves  capable  of  preferring  them  to  lower 
goods,  we  do  not  fail  to  perceive  that  they  are  worth  more 
than  those  which  we  prefer  to  them  ;  and  we  regret  that  we 
have  not  the  strength  of  mind  to  sacrifice  what  pleases  us 
most  to  that  which  would  give  our  being  a  higher  worth, 
were  we  but  capable  of  enjoying  it.  Hence  there  must  be 
in  these  goods  something  more  than  is  found  in  the  others, 
else  we  should  not  consider  them  as  deserving  the  prefer- 
ence. This  ability  to  procure  a  greater  happiness,  and  one 
which  is  of  higher  value,  must  be  due  to  their  manifest 
superiority. 

Although  it  is  desire  which  tells  us  of  the  presence  of  good, 
yet  it  is  not  the  desire  itself  which  makes  a  certain  thing 
good  ;  it  is  only  a  sign  which  indicates  the  presence  of  good  ; 
but  we  can  then  consider  the  good  in  itself,  independently 


20  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

of  the  sign  which  has  revealed  it  to  us.  For  this  reason  I 
cannot  accept  this  proposition  of  Spinoza's :  "  It  is  not  be- 
cause a  thing  is  good  that  we  desire  it,  it  is  because  we  desire 
it  that  it  is  good." 1  A  thing  which  was  neither  good  nor 
bad  could  not  be  desired :  that  which  has  no  definite  quality 
can  procure  no  pleasure,  and  consequently  can  arouse  no 
desire.  It  is,  then,  the  nature  of  the  object  which  renders 
it  desirable,  and  consequently  it  is  good  in  itself  before  it  is 
desired :  by  this  means  only  we  are  able  to  measure  and 
estimate  the  nobility  or  the  excellence  of  pleasures,  for 
pleasures  are  more  or  less  excellent  according  as  their  cause 
is  more  or  less  excellent ;  otherwise,  if  it  is  desire  which 
creates  good,  whatever  pleases  would  be  a  good  from  that 
fact  alone,  and  passion  would  become  the  sole  judge  and  the 
sole  measure  of  good  and  evil. 

Spinoza  himself  teaches,  as  I  do,  that  good  is  not  that  which 
causes  pleasure,  but  that  which  makes  us  pass  from  a  lesser 
degree  of  perfection  to  a  greater;  and  that,  on  the  other 
hand,  evil  is  that  which  diminishes  our  perfection.  Now, 
whether  this  increase  or  diminishing  of  being  which  con- 
stitutes good  and  evil  is  attended  by  joy  or  by  sadness,  these 
two  passions  are  only  the  effects,  not  the  causes,  of  the  good : 
it  is  in  proportion  as  man  develops  his  faculties  that  he 
becomes  capable  of  joy  ;  and,  in  Spinoza's  opinion,  the  highest 
joy  is  that  which  results  from  the  noblest  and  the  purest 

1  Ethics,  part  iii.  propos.  xxix.,  Scholium.  Aristotle  seems  to  say  the  contrary. 

(Met.,   Xii.,   Vii. — 1070,   a    29.)     'Opey6/J.e9a    Se    Sioti    Ka\bv    Sonet    fiaWov  r;  SoKel    Sioti 

bpey6y.ee*.  I.  "  We  desire  a  thing  because  it  seems  to  us  beautiful,  rather  than  it 
seems  to  us  beautiful  because  we  desire  it."  Cumberland  also  refutes  this 
opinion:  "  I,  on  the  contrary,  am  of  opinion  that  things  are  first  judged  to  be 
good,  and  that  they  are  afterwards  desired  only  so  far  as  they  seem  good;  that 
any  thing  is  therefore  truly  judged  good  because  its  effect  or  force  truly  helps 
nature:  that  a  private  good  is  that  which  profits  one;  public  which  is  of  advan- 
tage to  many.  .  .  .  The  nature  of  man  requires  that  reason,  examining  the 
nature  of  things,  should,  from  the  evidence  thence  unalterably  arising,  first 
determine  and  judge  what  is  good  (whether  in  relation  to  ourselves  or  others) 
before  we  desire  it,  or  are  delighted  therewith.  And  it  is  the  part  of  brutes 
only,  to  measure  the  goodness  of  things,  or  of  actions,  by  affection  only,  with- 
out the  guidance  of  reason." —  The  Laws  of  Nature,  chap,  iii.,  §  2. 


PLEASURE  AND   GOOD.  21 

action,  which  is  the  contemplation  and  love  of  God.  So, 
too,  in  Aristotle's  opinion,  the  greatest  happiness  is  found  in 
contemplation,  either  of  God  by  men,  or  of  God  by  himself. 
But  if  the  noblest  action  results  from  the  contemplation  of 
absolute  being,  or,  if  you  will  (to  satisfy  all  systems),  of  the 
true  and  the  beautiful,  is  it  not  certain  that  the  true  and 
the  beautiful  are  goods  in  themselves  ?  It  is,  then,  in  propor- 
tion as  they  are  so  that  they  should  be  desired  and  sought 
after :  hence  Spinoza  was  wrong  in  saying  that  it  is  desire 
which  makes  the  good,  and  not  the  good  which  causes  the 
desire. 

Whatever  one  may  do,  unless  one  introduces  into  the 
philosophy  of  pleasure  a  foreign  and  superior  element,  one 
can  never  find  a  rule  which  will  explain  why  certain  pleasures 
should  be  preferred  to  others  :  now,  if  there  is  no  such  rule, 
there  is  no  moral  science.  The  arithmetic  of  pleasure,  as 
Bentham  has  invented  it,  is  certainly  a  very  ingenious 
method ;  and  it  is  a  credit  to  the  thinker  who  has  formulated 
and  worked  it  out;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  could 
furnish  us  a  scale  of  valuation  for  the  different  goods  which 
men  may  pursue. 

In  a  philosophy  of  pleasure  only,  there  can  be  no  criterion 
for  the  classification  of  goods :  no  good  will  absolutely  and 
by  right  occupy  a  certain  place  ;  for  as  pleasure  is  essentially 
relative  to  the  individual,  and  varies  with  different  organiza- 
tions, and  with  the  varying  circumstances  of  life,  what  is 
a  good  for  one  will  not  be  so  for  another,  and  what  is  the 
greatest  good  to  some  will  not  be  so  to  others.  For  example, 
the  certainty  of  pleasure  is  undoubtedly  an  element  in  the 
calculation,  but  not  for  every  one :  some  find  more  pleasure 
in  running  the  risk  of  obtaining  a  very  great  good  than  in 
being  contented  with  the  certainty  of  a  moderate  good.  It 
is  the  same  in  regard  to  purity :  many  men,  for  example, 
prefer  the  violent  and  exciting  pleasures  of  passion  to  the 
commonplace  pleasures  of  a  regular  life ;  it  may  be,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  pleasure  only,  that  they  are  right. 


22  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

If,  without  confusing  one's  self  with  the  thousand  prefer- 
ences and  the  infinite  disagreements  of  individual  passions, 
one  seeks  some  firm  basis  for  the  appreciation  of  human  goods 
by  inquiring  of  experience  what  are  the  objects  which  men 
generally  love  most,  and  in  what  order  these  are  beloved,  — 
if  one  resorts  to  this  test,  one  will  be  struck  with  the  fact 
already  noted,  which  is,  that  men  generally  love  the  goods 
of  this  world  in  inverse  proportion  to  their  excellence  and 
their  beauty.  To  prove  this  fact,  it  suffices  to  invoke  the 
testimony  of  moralists  and  of  preachers,  not  only  preachers 
of  religion,  but  also  of  morals  and  politics.  Everywhere 
you  will  see  enlightened  and  superior  men  reproaching  the 
crowd  for  its  ignoble  attachments.  If  religion  is  in  ques- 
tion, it  is  accused  of  preferring  idols  to  the  true  God ;  if 
politics,  of  preferring  security  to  liberty  ;  if  morals,  of  prefer- 
ring material  interest  to  honor.  Poets,  who  do  not  trouble 
themselves  about  morals,  religion,  or  politics,  also  sigh  over 
the  ignoble  instincts  of  the  multitude,  who  are  ignorant  of 
the  divine  pleasures  of  enthusiasm,  or  of  the  beautiful. 
Finally,  even  those  who  sing  the  praises  of  passion  seek  to 
make  it  gleam  before  our  eyes  as  being  nobler  and  more 
excellent  than  the  gross  interests  and  coldly  calculating 
combinations  which  govern  the  ordinary  relations  of  life. 

What  must  we  conclude  from  these  facts  ?  This :  that, 
if  we  consult  the  only  criterion  which  we  have  for  estimating 
the  degree  of  pleasure  which  different  goods  procure  for 
mankind,  we  shall  see  that  by  common  consent  the  most 
ignoble  pleasures  are  those  which  are  preferred,  while  those 
of  a  more  excellent  nature  are  sought  by  a  small  number 
only.  From  this  we  must  conclude,  either  that  these 
superior  pleasures  are  purely  chimerical,  thus  renouncing 
all  ideals ;  or  else  that  there  is  some  other  principle  of  clas- 
sification, and  that  they  should  be  valued,  not  according  to 
the  pleasure  which  they  procure  for  us,  but  according  to  that 
which  they  would  secure  us  if  we  were  in  a  condition  to 
comprehend  and  enjoy  them ;  in  other  words,  according  to 
their  intrinsic,  worth. 


PLEASURE  AND  GOOD.  23 

Thus  all  moral  distinctions  would  disappear,  all  choice 
between  good  and  evil  would  become  arbitrary,  if  we  were 
not  to  suppose  that  there  is  some  real,  essential,  objective 
basis,  which  will  enable  us  to  grade  and  value  pleasures  in 
an  order  contrary  to  that  of  our  instincts.  We  are  not  to 
seek  for  good  in  a  form  of  our  feeling,  nor  even  in  a  resultant 
form  or  comparison  of  our  states  of  consciousness,  but  in 
something  deeper.  Pleasure  is  not  thus  excluded  from  the 
rank  of  goods,  but  it  is  not  the  supreme  good. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  in  moral  philosophy  an  element 
which  is  incontestably  subjective ;  and,  as  we  shall  see  later, 
each  one  must  act,  and  be  judged,  only  according  to  the 
actual  state  of  his  individual  conscience ;  but  this  subjective 
element,  which  consists  in  the  more  or  less  enlightened 
knowledge  which  each  one  may  have  of  the  law  according  to 
circumstances,  nevertheless  leaves  intact  the  idea  of  law, 
and  the  idea  of  an  objective  distinction  between  good  and 
evil.  The  opinion  which  we  form  of  one  and  of  the  other 
may  be  more  or  less  modified  by  our  individual  situation ; 
but  still  we  must  recognize  an  essential  distinction,  which  is 
founded  on  something  above  us.  In  the  philosophy  of  pleas- 1 
ure,  on  the  contrary,  every  thing  is  subjective ;  and  the  rule 
is  only  a  comparison,  a  combination,  or  a  calculation,  made 
between  our  various  sensations, — that  is  to  say,  between  the 
different  ways  in  which  we  may  be  affected  —  in  such  a  way 
that  in  reality  it  is  always  sensation  which  is  the  last  term  of 
our  action :  it  is  the  Ego  with  its  agreeable  or  disagreeable 
states  of  consciousness  which  is  its  own  sole  and  final  object ; 
while  the  conscience,  even  when  unenlightened,  and  forced 
to  judge  solely  by  its  relative  and  imperfect  light,  still  pre- 
sents to  us  something  which  is  good  or  bad  beyond  the  im- 
pressions of  our  sensibility. 

Above  the  philosophy  of  pleasure  rises,  then,  necessarily 
and  legitimately,  the  philosophy  of  duty ;  that  is  to  say,  the 
philosophy  of  law.  To  make  it  possible  that  our  actions 
should  be  judged  morally,  there  must  be  a  law  which  com- 


24  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

mands  some,  and  forbids  others  —  a  law  necessarily  superior 
to  the  wishes  and  desires  of  each  individual,  which  will  be 
the  same  for  all  men  under  the  same  circumstances,  without 
regard  to  the  sensibilities  of  each  individual.  Such  is  the 
law,  called  the  law  of  duty,  which  Kant  has  so  ably  declared 
and  defended  against  the  partisans  of  pleasure  or  of  utility. 
This  law,  of  universal  application,  with  a  character  of  abso- 
lute authority,  and  a  uniform  and  identical  attitude,  is,  to 
use  Kant's  expression,  the  form  of  action ;  and  that  part  of 
moral  science  which  is  devoted  to  the  determination  of  the 
nature  of  the  law  will  then  be  called,  as  I  have  already  said, 
formal  morality.  Thus,  from  the  moral  subjectivity,  main- 
tained by  the  partisans  of  pleasure  or  of  utility,  we  rise  to 
that  moral  formalism  which  is  taught  by  Kant. 


y-       OF   THE  n' 

JNIVERSITY 


CHAPTER  II. 

GOOD   AND   LAW. 

rTIHE  question  which  now  presents  itself  to  us  is  the  fol- 
-*-  lowing :  Does  not  formal  moral  science,  that  is  to  say 
the  theory  of  law  or  the  theory  of  duty,  necessarily  imply  the 
existence  of  something  anterior  to  itself?  Does  it  alone 
form  the  whole  of  moral  science  ?  Is  there  nothing  beyond 
and  above  the  law?  Is  this  sufficient  unto  itself?  Is  it  its 
own  basis?  or,  expressing  this  problem  in  the  same  form  in 
which  Kant  stated  it ;  Is  good  the  principle  of  duty  ?  or,  Is 
duty  the  principle  of  good  ?  The  original  and  bold  feature 
of  Kant's  philosophy  is,  that  he  endeavored  to  establish  one 
while  taking  away  every  kind  of  real  and  effective  end,  free- 
ing the  law  from  any  object  other  than  itself,  and  reducing 
morality  to  an  abstract,  empty  maxim ;  in  a  word,  to  use  his 
own  expression,  making  morality  consist  exclusively  of  the 
form,  and  not  of  the  matter,  of  the  action. 

We  must  examine  this  theory  before  advancing  farther; 
for  if  it  is  well  founded,,  then  it  would  be  utterly  useless  to 
make  any  inquiries  as  to  the  nature  of  good.  Of  the  three 
divisions  which  I  have  distinguished  in  moral  science,  one 
of  which  treats  of  good,  the  second  of  duty,  and  the  third  of 
morality  or  of  virtue,  the  first  would  no  longer  survive,  but 
would  become  confounded  with  the  others.  Objective  would 
disappear  before  formal  morality. 

In  Kant's  morality  two  elements  must  be  distinguished  — 
one  which  is  incontestable,  and  should  be  preserved  in  every 
system  of  philosophy ;  the  other,  arbitrary  and  extreme,  to 
which  many  objections  may  be  made.     The  first  is  his  theory 

25 


26  THE   THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

of  duty,  the  second  his  theory  of  good.  His  analysis  of  duty 
is  perfect:  he  has  proved  conclusively  that  duty  is  a  univer- 
sal law,  obligatory  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  on  account  of  its 
consequences.  He  has  clearly  distinguished  the  law  of  duty 
from  the  rules  of  prudence  and  the  calculations  of  interest : 
he  has  shown  that  morality  consists  exclusively  in  obedience 
to  law  through  respect  for  law.  But  if  the  theory  of  duty 
laid  down  in  Kant's  philosophy  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired, 
it  is  not  the  same  with  his  theory  of  good :  this  borders  upon 
an  abstract  formalism,  which  does  not  seem  to  furnish  a 
sufficiently  firm  foundation  for  a  moral  science.1 

In  fact,  it  is  a  fundamental  point  in  Kant's  philosophy 
(and  he  admits  himself  that  it  is  a  paradox),  that  duty  is 
not  founded  upon  good,  but  that  good  is  founded  upon  duty. 
We  should  not  say,  "  Do  this  because  it  is  good,"  but,  "  That 
is  good,  for  you  ought  to  do  it."  The  reason  why  an  action 
is  good  is  that  it  is  obligatory ;  while  we  should  rather  be 
inclined  to  believe  that  it  is  obligatory  only  because  it  is 
good.  Thus,  we  believe  that  justice  or  sincerity  are  things 
which  are  good  in  themselves,  and  that  this  is  the  reason 
why  they  should  be  sought  and  practised.  No,  says  Kant : 
if  these  things  are  good,  it  is  because  they  are  enjoined  upon 
us  by  a  law,  which  is  the  law  of  duty.  Why  does  this  law 
exist  ?  We  do  not  know.  This  is  what  he  calls  the  primary 
fact  of  practical  reason.  Sic  volo,  sic  jubeo,  he  says  :  this  is 
the  formula  of  moral  law.  We  may  recognize  it  by  a  cer- 
tain sign,  which  is,  the  universality  of  the  law ;  but  we  can- 
not explain  it. 

How  was  Kant  led  to  adopt  this  theory  ?  By  the  profound 
analysis  which  he  made  of  the  idea  of  dujty.  He  begins  by 
maintaining  that  there  is  only  one  thing  here  below  which  is 

1  I  ought  also  to  mention  two  other  theories  of  Kant's  — one,  the  theory  of 
the  moral  individual  (see  p.  39),  and  the  theory  of  the  autonomy  of  the  will 
(see  Book  ii.,  chap,  ii.,  p.  185).  It  will  he  necessary  to  examine  how  far  these 
two  theories  agree  with  the  moral  formalism  of  Kant.  In  reference  to  all 
these  questions,  one  may  profitably  consult  M.  Jules  Barni,  Examen  Critique 
de  la  Morale  de  Kant,  Paris,  1851. 


GOOD   AND  LAW.  27 

absolutely  good  :  this  is  what  he  calls  a  good  will.  In  truth, 
all  the  things  of  this  world  have  merely  a  relative  value,  and 
are  good  or  evil  only  according  to  the  use  that  is  made  of 
them.  It  is  the  good  use  which  is  good,  not  the  thing  itself. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  good  will  is  good  in  itself,  and  it  is  not 
necessary  to  await  its  results  before  deciding  that  it  is  so.  A 
good  will  is,  then,  the  only  good  which  is  really  absolute. 
Now,  if  we  analyze  the  idea  of  a  good  will,  what  do  we  find  it 
to  be  ?  Nothing  else,  according  to  Kant,  but  the  will  to  do 
one's  duty :  and  to  do  one's  duty  is  not  merely  to  act  con- 
formably to  duty ;  it  is  to  act  for  the  sake  of  duty.  An  exte- 
rior conformity  to  the  law  of  duty  has  only  a  legal  value,  and 
acquires  moral  worth  only  when  it  is  accompanied  within 
by  the  will  to  do  one's  duty :  morality,  then,  consists  in  this 
will  itself.  Now,  if  the  goodness  of  the  action  or  the  goodness 
of  the  will  consists  exclusively  in  acting  for  the  sake  of  duty, 
it  is  plain  that  the  worth  of  the  action  does  not  lie  in  the 
action  itself,  but  in  the  motive  of  the  action,  or,  as  Kant  ex- 
presses it,  in  the  maxim  of  the  action.  Change  the  maxim, 
and  the  same  action  may  be  alternately  good  or  evil ;  change 
the  action  while  retaining  the  same  motive,  and  the  most 
widely  differing  actions  will  have  the  same  moral  value. 
Now  the  maxim  of  the  action,  the  motive  of  the  action,  is 
what  Kant  calls  its  form.  The  object  of  the  action  is  what 
he  calls  its  matter.  Morality,  then,  consists  exclusively  in 
the  form,  and  not  in  the  matter,  of  the  action. 

Let  us  assume,  for  instance,  that  there  exists  something 
which  is  good  in  itself,  anterior  to  the  law :  we  could  pursue 
this  object  for  one  of  two  reasons  only,  either  because  it 
might  be  obligatory,  or  because  it  might  be  desirable.  In 
the  latter  case  we  have  the  philosophy  of  pleasure,  which  has 
already  been  refuted ;  in  the  former  case  we  have  precisely 
Kant's  theory ;  it  would  be  the  obligation  which  would  es- 
tablish the  good,  not  the  good  which  would  establish  the 
obligation. 

These  results  would  still  be  true,  according  to  Kant,  even 


28  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

if  the  object  offered  to  our  wills  were  not  an  object  of  the 
senses,  like  the  pleasure  or  the  interest  of  the  philosophy  of 
Epicurus  or  Hobbes,  but  an  intellectual  object,  such  as  per- 
fection, the  divine  will,  universal  order,  or  the  necessary  rela- 
tions of  things.  None  of  these  objects  can  act  upon  our  wills 
without  acting  first  upon  our  feelings.  If  we  reply  to  this, 
that  as  soon  as  the  first  conception  of  these  objects  dawns 
upon  us,  they  immediately  appear  to  us  to  be  obligatory ; 
that  we  cannot,  for  example,  conceive  the  idea  of  perfection, 
of  t}ie  divine  will,  or  of  the  order  of  things,  without  at  once 
conceiving  also  that  it  is  our  duty  to  strive  for  this  perfec- 
tion, to  conform  ourselves  to  this  order  or  to  this  will,  —  then 
these  may  well  be  accepted  as  principles  of  moral  science ; 
but  it  will  be  because  the  conception  of  duty  has  been  intro- 
duced into  them.  Thus  the  sole  legitimate  root  of  morality 
springs  from  the  idea  of  the  law. 

I  cannot  accept  this  theory.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is 
purely  hypothetical,  and  a  thing  that  Kant  has  never  proved, 
when  he  maintains  that  no  object,  even  a  rational  one,  can 
control  the  will  except  by  means  of  pleasure  or  pain.  Un- 
doubtedly the  question  arises  here,  whether  man  is  capable 
of  acting  from  reason  alone ;  but  this  question  is  the  same, 
whether  we  consider  the  law,  or  whether  we  consider  an 
object  anterior  to  the  law.  Whether  the  basis  of  moral  sci- 
ence is  duty  anterior  to  good,  as  Kant  maintains,  or  good 
anterior  to  duty,  as  I  believe,  in  either  case  the  question 
arises  whether  pure  reason  is  able,  by  itself,  to  control  the 
will,  or  whether  it  is  not  necessary  that  there  should  be  also 
some  motive  of  feeling.  But  Kant  does  not  here  speak  of 
the  moral  force  of  the  agent,  but  of  the  imperative  power 
of  the  moral  principle :  hence  I  cannot  see  why  he  should  be 
unwilling  to  admit  that  a  rational  object  may  control  the  will 
in  some  other  way  than  by  the  inducement  of  pleasure.  Un- 
doubtedly an  object  conceived  theoretically  by  the  reason 
does  not  by  that  very  fact  become  a  principle  of  action; 
for  I  can  conceive  clearly  the  idea  of  a  triangle  inscribed 


GOOD  AND  LAW.  29 

within  a  given  circle,  and  of  the  means  necessary  to  produce 
it,  without  ever  being  inclined  to  realize  it  unless  I  feel  some 
need  of  it.  But  why  should  the  same  be  true  of  every 
rational  object  ?  May  there  not  be  objects,  such  as  the  idea 
of  perfection,  or  of  the  order  of  the  world,  or  of  the  imitation 
of  God,  which  cannot  be  conceived  without  producing  simul- 
taneously the  necessity  for  obeying  them  —  in  a  word,  such 
as  will  immediately  appear  to  us  imperative  or  obligatory? 
Doubtless  we  should  have  to  inquire  the  reason  for  this  obli- 
gation ;  but  even  if  we  could  not  discover  it,  have  not  we 
just  as  good  a  right  as  Kant  to  assume  as  an  ultimate  fact 
the  obligatory  and  imperative  character  of  certain  intellectual 
conceptions  ?  The  fact  of  a  direct  connection  between  good 
and  obligation  is  no  more  difficult  to  accept  than  the  ultimate 
fact  of  a  law  without  cause  and  a  command  without  reason. 
This,  however,  would  not  be  the  same  thing  as  accepting 
Kant's  hypothesis :  for  if  we  say  of  perfection,  for  example, 
or  of  conformity  to  the  divine  will,  or  of  any  other  principle, 
that  it  is  obligatory  at  the  very  instant  at  which  it  is  con- 
ceived, we  do  not  thereby  make  obligation  the  basis  of  good, 
but  we  derive  the  obligation  from  the  good  itself;  for  it  is  in 
proportion  as  perfection  is  good  that  it  appears  to  us  obliga- 
tory, not  because  it  is  obligatory  that  it  seems  to  us  to  be 
good.  Otherwise  we  should  be  forced  to  conclude  that  per- 
fection, considered  in  itself,  without  reference  to  any  will,  is 
neither  good  nor  evil ;  which  would  be  the  same  as  saying, 
for  example,  that  God  is  no  better  than  the  Devil,  that 
Ormuzd  is  in  no  way  superior  to  Ahriman. 

The  whole  difficulty  of  this  problem  arises  from  an  equiv- 
ocation which  it  is  necessary  to  explain.  The  term  good 
has,  in  fact,  two  meanings;  and  we  must,  with  Leibnitz, 
distinguish  two  kinds  of  good  —  natural  and  moral.  Moral 
good  undoubtedly  presupposes  will,  the  moral  intention; 
and  Kant  is  right  in  saying  that  it  is  consequent  upon,  and 
implies  the  law  of,  duty.  An  action  is,  indeed,  morally  good, 
only  when  it  is  performed  for  the  sake  of  duty,  and  not 


30  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

from  any  other  motive,  such  as  the  fear  of  punishment,  per- 
sonal interest,  mechanical  habit,  etc.  But  must  we  there- 
fore conclude  that  there  is  no  other  good  except  moral  good, 
that  there  is  not  some  natural  good,  anterior  to  the  law  of 
duty,  and  forming  the  basis  of  this  ? 

Kant  also  distinguishes  two  kinds  of  good,  and  he  recog- 
nizes a  natural  good,  apart  from  that  which  is  moral :  he 
even  says  that  the  German  language  is  very  fortunate  in  pos- 
sessing two  words  by  which  to  distinguish  two  things  so 
widely  different  one  from  the  other  (jgut  and  wohl  —  libel, 
hose).  But  this  good  which  is  not  moral  good,  which  he 
distinguishes  by  the  expression  wohl,  is  simply,  according  to 
him,  that  which  causes  us  pleasure  ;  in  other  words,  it  is 
pleasure  itself;  hence  it  cannot  be  the  foundation  of  duty. 
The  only  true  and  genuine  good  is  that  which  is  ordered, 
i.  e.,  commanded  by  the  law,  the  good  which  results  from 
duty  :  this  is  the  only  one  recognized  by  morality. 

But  is  it  true  that  all  which  we  call  good  outside  of  moral 
good,  all  which  seems  to  mankind  to  be  naturally  good,  is 
so  only  because  it  charms  our  feelings,  and  gives  us  pleasure  ? 
Must  every  thing  which  is  not  virtue  — by  which  I  mean  vol- 
untary virtue,  the  moral  act  —  be  reduced  to  objects  of  feel- 
ing? Are  there  not  true  goods,  having  an  essential  and 
effective  nature,  which,  if  they  cannot  be  found  in  exterior 
things,  at  least  exist  within  our  souls  —  goods  which  have  a 
value  in  themselves  independently  of  their  effect  upon  our 
feelings,  being  truly  objective  and  absolute,  capable  of  form- 
ing a  basis  for  law,  instead  of  being  merely  the  result  of 
law  ?  All  such  things  as  speech,  industry,  science,  a  taste 
for  the  beautiful,  the  affections,  may  undoubtedly  become 
morally  good  or  bad  according  to  the  use  which  is  made  of 
them  ;  but  are  they  not  truly  good  in  themselves  and  before 
any  use  whatever  ? 

Is  there  not  even  one  part  of  virtue  which  is  natural  to 
each  one  of  us,  apery  <f>vo-iKrj,  as  Aristotle  says;  for  example, 
the  first  promptings  of  kindness,  of  moderation,  of  modesty, 


GOOD  AND  LAW.  31 

of  sincerity  —  inclinations  which  are  anterior  to  all  education, 
to  all  free  and  premeditated  choice  ?  These  innate  inclina- 
tions are  simply  good  as  talents  are  good,  as  beauty,  vigor 
and  wit,  are  goods. 

Moral  good  seems,  then,  to  be  nothing  but  the  good  use  of 
natural  goods,  and  plainly  presupposes  that  there  is  already 
something  which  is  in  itself  naturally  good:  otherwise  we 
could  not  understand  why  one  action  should  be  good  rather 
than  another.  Every  human  action  has  an  object:  it  is 
always  intended  to  procure  or  to  destroy,  either  in  ourselves 
or  in  others,  something  determinate  and  concrete.  For  ex- 
ample, to  save  a  friend  consists  in  saving  either  his  life  or 
his  fortune ;  to  instruct  him  is  to  increase  the  sum  of  his 
knowledge ;  to  speak  the  truth  is  to  employ  words  in  the 
service  of  thought.  If  we  assume  that  these  different  objects 
are  in  themselves  absolutely  characterless,  then  we  cannot 
see  why  these  various  actions  should  be  better  than  their  op- 
posites.  To  free  moral  action  from  all  effective  objects  is  to 
destroy  the  action  itself.  If  all  the  goods  in  the  world,  in- 
cluding those  of  the  soul,  had  in  themselves  no  more  value 
than  a  pebble,  it  would  be  impossible  to  understand  why  we 
ought  to  seek  for  some,  and  avoid  others.  A  moral  law 
which  should  command  us  to  break  stones  without  any  ob- 
ject, for  the  sake  simply  of  bending  our  wills,  would  be  a 
law  void  of  all  content,  and  consequently  senseless.  The 
recluses  of  the  Thebaid,  who  tired  themselves  out  in  water- 
ing dead  sticks,  furnish  us  with  a  perfect  illustration  of  a 
purely  formal  law,  freed  from  every  material  object.  Such 
an  action  might  be  useful  as  an  ingenious  apologue,  by  which 
the  recluses  constantly  reminded  themselves  of  the  vanity  of 
human  labor ;  but  if  we  take  it  as  the  perfect  type  of  moral- 
ity, we  fall  into  the  absurd  and  impracticable. 

The  Stoics  seem  to  have  taken  very  nearly  the  same  point 
of  view  as  did  Kant.  They  maintained  that  all  natural 
goods  are  indifferent  (d8ta</>opa),  and  that  the  only  good  is 
that  which  is  becoming ;  that  is  to  say,  moral  good.     They 


32  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

begin,  however,  with  the  consideration  of  natural  goods ;  but, 
so  soon  as  nature  has  led  them  up  to  that  which  is  honestum, 
they  reject  all  other  good,  and  reserve  that  name  solely  for 
that  which  is  becoming.  For  this  reason  they  refused  to 
say  that  health  is  good,  that  life  is  good,  and  conversely  that 
pain  is  an  evil. 

In  one  sense  they  were  right,  if  they  meant  to  say  that 
that  which  is  honest  is  the  only  moral  good ;  for  it  is  quite 
true  that  virtue  only  has  a  moral  value.  But  they  were 
wrong  in  regarding  every  thing  else  as  indifferent ;  for,  once 
again,  if  nothing  has  any  value  in  itself,  if  all  the  objects  in 
the  universe  are  neither  good  nor  evil,  why  should  it  be  more 
becoming,  and  morally  better,  to  seek  for  one  rather  than 
for  the  other  ?  Strictly  interpreted,  the  Stoical  philosophy 
would  become  inadmissible  and  absurd ;  it  would  destroy 
itself,  as  Cumberland  saw  clearly : 2  of  those  philosophers  he 
says  :  "  Whilst  they  endeavor  to  establish  the  transcendent 
goodness  of  virtue,  and  the  egregious  evil  of  vice,  they,  in- 
cautiously, take  away  the  only  reason  why  virtue  is  good,  and 
vice,  evil.  For  virtue  is  therefore  good  (and  in  truth  it  is 
the  greatest  good),  because  it  determines  human  actions 
to  such  effects  as  are  the  principal  parts  of  the  public  natural 
good;  and  consequently  tends  to  improve  in  all  men  the 
natural  perfections,  both  of  mind  and  body."  Cicero  ex- 
pressed the  same  idea  by  means  of  an  ingenious  compari- 
son. "  If  the  culture  of  the  vine,"  he  says,  "  could  acquire  a 
consciousness  for  itself,  it  would  undoubtedly  consider  itself 
the  most  excellent  thing  within  the  vine ;  but  it  would  not 
cease  to  do  whatever  is  necessary  to  preserve  the  vine."  In 
truth,  if  the  vine  itself  had  no  value,  I  cannot  see  how  the 
culture  of  the  vine  could  have  any !  Similarly,  if  all  the 
objects  of  human  activity  were  worthless,  how  could  moral 
activity  be  of  any  value?  It  would  then  be  utterly  void, 
and  would  feed  on  itself.  Finally,  Cicero  rightly  said  that 
the  Stoics  ended  by  disagreeing  with  themselves ;  since  they 

1  The  Law  of  Nature,  chap.  v.  §  5. 


GOOD  AND  LAW.  33 

established  degrees  between  indifferent  things,  and  called  some 
preferable,  others  not  preferable  (jrpocupov/xeva,  d7rpoaipov//,era). 

In  another  sense  also  it  may  be  correct  to  say  that  that 
which  is  honestum  is  the  sole  good ;  but  this  needs  explana- 
tion. Among  the  ancients,  as  well  as  in  common  parlance  in 
all  languages,  the  word  becoming,  and  even  the  word  virtue, 
are  often  used  equivocally :  for  sometimes  they  mean  moral 
good,  virtue  properly  so  called,  which  is  acquired  by  the 
exercise  of  the  will,  and  results  from  the  observance  of  the 
law ;  sometimes  they  refer  to  the  goods  of  the  soul,  the  nat- 
ural qualities  of  the  soul,  such  as  strength,  dignity,  sincerity, 
purity,  etc.  If  this  is  what  is  meant  by  that  which  is  be- 
coming, then  it  is  correct  to  say  that  this  is  the  sole  good : 
for  it  is  certain  that  exterior  goods,  and  those  of  the  body, 
have  only  a  relative  value ;  while  the  goods  of  the  soul,  as 
we  shall  see  later,  have  alone  an  absolute  value.  It  is  none 
the  less  true,  that  that  which  is  becoming,  if  thus  defined,  is 
not  identical  with  moral  good :  it  would  be  the  foundation 
of  duty,  instead  of  being  its  consequence.  These  qualities, 
however  spiritual  they  may  £>e,  are  nevertheless  natural 
goods,  distinct  from  what  we  have  called  moral  good,  that 
is,  voluntary  virtue  :  they  have  a  value  in  themselves.  It  is 
not,  as  Kant  thinks,  because  they  are  enjoined  by  duty  that 
they  seem  to  us  to  be  good:  it  is  because  they  are  natu- 
rally and  essentially  good  that  they  are  thus  commanded. 
If  certain  creatures  were  made  naturally  sincere  and  gener- 
ous, they  would  be  good  creatures,  although  sincerity  and 
generosity  would  not  be  in  them  the  result  of  an  order  and  a 
law :  they  would  be  considered  better  than  lying  and  cruel 
creatures.  The  goodness  of  God  is  none  the  less  a  good 
thing  because  it  is  not  for  him  a  matter  of  a  duty.  Thus 
goodness,  sincerity,  the  qualities  of  the  soul,  natural  virtues, 
are  in  themselves  of  inestimable  worth ;  and  they  constitute 
what  I  call  the  natural  good,  the  basis  of  moral  good.  There 
is,  then,  a  natural  good,  which  results  from  the  very  nature 
and  essence  of  the  soul,  which  should  be  sought  for  its  own 


34  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

sake,  in  preference  to  every  thing  else ;  and  every  thing  else, 
on  the  other  hand,  should  be  sought  for  the  sake  of  this: 
omnia  propter  istud,  istud  autem  propter  sese  expetendum. 
Now,  that  which  constitutes  such  a  good  is  not  the  pleasure 
which  it  procures:  it  is  not  to  be  sought  by  the  feelings, 
since  these  are,  on  the  contrary,  always  inclined  to  prefer 
inferior  goods ;  since,  as  was  shown  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
the  scale  of  pleasures  is,  with  the  majority  of  mankind, 
exactly  the  reverse  of  the  scale  of  true  goods. 

From  what  has  already  been  said,  it  is  clear  that  I  cannot 
accept  the  theory  of  Kant,  that  there  is  but  one  thing  which 
is  absolutely  and  unequivocally  good ;  that  is,  a  good  will. 
To  say  this  is  to  confound  the  objective  and  the  subjective. 
It  is  unintentionally  to  make  the  state  of  the  conscience  of 
the  subject  the  absolute  basis  of  morality. 

Kant  is  correct  in  saying  that  nothing  but  a  good  will  is 
absolutely  good,  if  by  this  he  means  morally  good.  But  he 
seems  to  think,  that,  aside  from  a  good  will,  nothing  is  either 
good  or  evil  in  itself,  and  that  things  have  value  only  ac- 
cording to  the  use  that  is  made  of  them.  Thus  intelligence, 
resolution,  self-control,  and  moderation  are,  he  says,  qualities 
which  in  themselves  are  neither  good  nor  evil,  but  which 
may  become  either  according  to  circumstances.  This  I  can- 
not admit.  In  itself,  intelligence  is  a  good  thing;  and  so 
are  the  other  qualities  just  mentioned ;  they  have  a  true  and 
essential  worth ;  they  do  not  cease  to  be  good,  even  when  a 
bad  use  is  made  of  them  :  it  is  the  use  alone  which  is  bad, 
but  the  quality  itself  remains  what  it  is ;  that  is  to  say,  good 
and  praiseworthy.  The  courage  of  a  villain  is  praiseworthy 
in  so  far  as  it  is  courage.  Self-possession  is  always  a  good 
thing,  even  when  we  must  condemn  the  consequences  which 
result  from  it.  Kant  is  evidently  mistaken  when  he  says 
that  the  self-possession  of  a  villain  renders  him  still  more 
contemptible.  This  is  contrary  to  experience.  Energetic 
qualities  joined  to  villany  produce  a  sort  of  admiration 
mingled  with  the  execration  which  the  villain  inspires  in 


GOOD  AND  LAW.  35 

us.  It  is  cowardice  which  would  render  him  more  con- 
temptible. Thus,  what  is  noble  remains  so ;  although,  when 
mingled  with  evil,  any  general  appreciation  of  it  becomes 
complex  and  difficult.  So,  too,  one  may  regret  the  abuse 
of  his  wit  by  a  man  of  great  talent;  but  wit  and  talent 
will  none  the  less  remain  good  and  admirable  things.  I  shall 
always  admire,  and  shall  always  have  a  right  to  admire, 
the  wit  of  Voltaire,  even  while  I  condemn  the  use  which 
he  sometimes  made  of  it. 

Natural  qualities,  then,  may  be  good  in  themselves,  inde- 
pendently of  the  use  that  is  made  of  them.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  good  will,  considered  in  reference  to  the  use  made 
of  it,  is  not  always  absolutely  and  unrestrictedly  good. 
For  example,  if  I  do  evil  with  a  good  intention,  this  good 
intention  may  undoubtedly  be  regarded  as  morally  good,  if 
it  is  really  pure  and  serious  ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  is  not  abso- 
lutely and  essentially  good.  Otherwise  it  would  be  useless 
to  enlighten  mankind  ;  for,  if  they  only  had  a  good  will,  it 
would  be  of  little  consequence  whether  this  good  will  had 
good  or  evil  for  its  object.  As  the  Scriptures  say,  "  There  is 
a  way  which  seemeth  right  unto  a  man  ;  but  the  end  thereof 
are  the  ways  of  death."  1  The  right  way,  or  the  good  will, 
would  be  good  in  itself;  but  it  would  not  be  so  in  so  far  as  it 
conducts  to  the  ways  of  death.  Hence  it  is  not  absolutely 
and  perfectly  good.  Kant  did  not  perceive,  that,  in  thus  re- 
ducing good  to  a  good  will,  he  really  changed  his  formal 
into  a  subjective  morality — that  the  absolute  and  impersonal 
character  of  the  law,  which  in  itself  is  objective,  was  lost  in 
the  individuality  of  the  subject.  Undoubtedly,  as  we  shall 
see  later,  a  good  will  is  the  only  thing  that  we  have  to  con- 
sider when  the  morality  of  the  agent  is  in  question ; 2  but 
when  we  are  concerned  with  the  principle  of  morality,  we 
shall  find  that  it  is  impossible  to  preserve  the  absolute  char- 
acter of  duty,  unless  we  seek  to  base  it  upon  the  essential 
nature  of  things,  and  not  upon  the  mere  will  of  the  subject. 

l  Proverbs,  xiv.  12.  2  Book  iii.,  chap.  i. 


36  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

An  exclusively  formal  morality  degenerates,  not  only  into 
a  subjective,  but  also. into  an  arbitrary,  morality. 

Let  us,  for  a  moment,  suppose  with  Kant  that  good  is  merely 
the  consequence  of  duty.  I  ask  in  regard  to  any  given 
action  whether  it  is  good  or  not.  According  to  Kant,  it  will 
be  good  if  it  is  my  duty.  But  why  is  it  my  duty  ?  To  this 
there  is  no  reply.  Duty  is  its  own  reason.  Law  is  law.  Sit 
pro  ratione  voluntas.  But  a  law  which  is  nothing  but  a  law, 
which  commands  without  giving  any  reason,  is  always  some- 
thing arbitrary.  It  is  universal,  you  say :  what  difference 
does  that  make  ?  It  is  not  the  fact  of  being  an  exception 
or  a  privilege  which  constitutes  the  arbitrariness  of  a  law  :  it 
is  the  being  without  reason.  If  an  absurd  law  were  imposed 
on  all  mankind,  it  would  be  none  the  less  absurd.  It  is  the 
peculiarity  of  the  moral  law,  says  Kant,  that  it  gives  no 
reasons  :  sic  volo,  sicjubeo,  is  its  sole  device  ;  but  this  is  the 
motto  of  tyrants.  If  the  law  of  duty  itself  were  to  impose 
itself  upon  our  wills  without  giving  any  reason,  it  would  be 
simply  a  tyranny. 

All  the  moralists,  excepting  Crusius  and  a  few  theologians, 
have  very  nearly  agreed  in  rejecting  the  doctrine  of  the 
divine  will,  or  of  absolute  decrees,  which  refers  the  primeval 
and  essential  distinction  of  good  and  evil  back  to  the  sover- 
eign will  of  a  divine  legislator.  But  if  the  law  did  not 
emanate  from  a  supreme  legislator  and  a  divine  will,  would  it 
be  any  less  odious  or  tyrannical  did  it  give  no  other  reason 
for  its  observance  but  its  universality  ?  Even  in  the  doctrine 
of  the  divine  will,  is  not  the  law  the  same  for  every  one  ? 
Undoubtedly  there  have  been  theologians  who  understood 
the  doctrine  of  absolute  decrees  as  meaning  a  capricious  and 
arbitrary  legislation,  which  was  binding  on  some,  while  it 
exempted  others  from  obedience.  But  this  interpretation, 
more  or  less  required  by  the  exigencies  of  biblical  exegesis, 
has  no  philosophical  value  ;  and  the  theory  of  Crusius  cannot 
be  accused  of  this  complication  of  absurdities.  Again,  in  so 
far  as  the  law  is  only  a  law  —  that  is  to  say,  a  rule  —  in 


GOOD  AND  LAW.  37 

so  far  as  it  is  not  based  upon  reason,  it  is  purely  arbitrary, 
whoever  the  legislator  may  be,  whether  divine  or  human. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  law  is  enforced  by  some  reason,  this 
reason,  which  is  anterior  to  the  law  itself,  can  be  nothing  but 
the  intrinsic  goodness  of  the  act  required :  it  is,  then,  good- 
ness which  is  the  basis  of  duty,  not  duty  which  is  the  basis 
of  goodness. 

It  is  this  attempt  to  make  of  duty  a  first  principle,  anterior 
to  good,  which  explains,  and  to  a  certain  extent  justifies,  the 
persistence  and  the  revival  of  utilitarian  philosophy.1  Ac- 
cording to  Bentham,  to  do  one's  duty  solely  because  it  is 
duty,  without  any  other  reason,  is  asceticism,  no  less  than  it 
is  when  one  blindly  obeys  the  divine  will  solely  because  it  is 
the  will  of  God :  to  sacrifice  the  most  imperious  instincts  of 
nature,  to  sacrifice  the  instinct  for  happiness  which  God  him- 
self has  implanted  within  us,  is,  in  the  first  place,  an  attempt 
to  perform  what  is  impossible  ;  but,  besides  that,  it  is  pure 
fanaticism  if  we  conceive  that  we  sacrifice  it,  without  any 
reason  for  doing  so,  to  a  law  which  commands  obedience 
without  telling  us  why. 

The  Utilitarians  have  also  justly  remarked,  that  Kant  con- 
tradicts himself;  for,  when  he  desires  to  give  some  reason  for 
this  absolute  law  which  shall  be  opposed  to  any  personal  and 


1  See,  for  example,  in  the  (Euvres  of  Charles  Dunoyer  (t.  ii.,  Notions 
d'fconomie  sociale.  Paris,  1870,  p.  714),  a  curious  report  of  a  meeting  of  the 
Academy  of  Moral  Science  for  the  discussion  of  the  principles  of  morality. 
All  the  essays  presented  were  hased  upon  Kant's  theories.  The  wise  political 
economist  criticises  and  combats  them  as  being  borrowed  from  abstract  ration- 
alism and  pure  formalism.  The  majority  of  his  criticisms  appear  to  me  to  be 
well  founded  :  only  the  author  may  have  deceived  himself  if  he  thinks  he  is 
speaking  in  the  name  of  utilitarian  philosophy  when  he  says;  "We  should 
estimate  different  goods  according  to  their  worth,  classify  them  according  to 
their  rank,  gradually  lose  our  interest  in  those  which  are  less  noble,  and  learn 
to  prefer  those  which  are  of  a  more  exalted  nature,  whose  acquisition  is  more 
difficult,  and  whose  possession  is  of  infinitely  greater  value  .  .  .  etc."  Where 
can  we  find  in  utilitarian  philosophy  any  principle  by  which  to  estimate  human 
goods  according  to  their  degree  of  nobility  and  dignity?  And,  if  there  were 
any  such,  it  is  just  that  which  I  call  that  which  is  becoming,  or  the  good,  and 
which  I  regard  as  the  basis  of  duty. 


38  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

egotistical  motive,  he  in  reality  borrows  his  reasons  from  the 
criterion  of  utility.  What  reason  does  Kant  give  for  the 
keeping  of  promises  ?  Simply,  that  if  we  break  our  word,  we 
seem  to  admit  by  that  very  act  that  others  have  a  right  to 
break  theirs  to  us,  and  in  such  a  case  it  would  be  impossible 
to  trust  any  promises !  or  why  should  we  show  pity  for  human 
ills  ?  Because  we  could  not  desire  a  state  of  society  in  which 
no  one  should  sympathize  with  another,  and  in  which  con- 
sequently we  could  expect  no  help  if  misfortune  should 
overtake  us. 

"  Such  a  will  [he  tells  us]  would  destroy  itself ;  for  many  cases  might 
arise  in  which  we  would  need  the  sympathy  and  assistance  of  others,  and 
we  should  have  cut  ourselves  off  from  all  hope  of  obtaining  the  aid  which 
we  would  desire." 

This  is  really  the  same  thing  as  saying  that  we  must  judge 
our  actions  by  their  consequences,  in  order  to  determine 
whether  we  could  desire  that  they  should,  to  use  Kant's  for- 
mula, become  "universal  laws  of  nature."  Schleiermacher 
has  also  observed,  that  the  criterion  most  frequently  employed 
by  Kant  in  estimating  virtue  is  its  capacity  for  rendering  one 
worthy  of  happiness ;  so  that  the  intrinsic  hollo wn ess  of  the 
law  is  remedied  only  by  the  aid  of  the  principle  of  utility. 

We  have  just  seen  that  the  morality  of  Kant,  logically 
carried  out,  will,  like  the  theological  doctrine  of  absolute 
decrees,  lead  up  to  an  arbitrary  and  tyrannical  law,  which  im- 
poses itself  upon  the  will  without  any  reason,  and  by  an  act 
of  pure  despotism.  Sic  volo,  sic  jubeo,  are  the  words  which 
Kant  himself  makes  it  utter.  But  there  has  never  been  any 
philosophy  which,  when  logically  leading  to  an  absurd  con- 
sequence, did  not  seek  for  a  remedy  by  returning  to  sound 
principles,  even  at  the  risk  of  compromising  the  unity  of  its 
theory,  and  the  logical  connection  of  ideas.  Thus,  in  Kant's 
system,  by  the  side  of  this  fundamental  theory  of  moral  for- 
malism, or  of  the  priority  of  duty  to  good,  whose  conse- 
quences we  have  just  traced  out,  there  is  another  which  cor- 


GOOD   AND   LAW.  39 

rects  and  completes  it,  and  which  we  should  examine.  This 
is  the  theory  of  humanity  considered  as  an  end  unto  itself ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  inviolability  of  the  moral  personality  given  as  a 
fundamental  reason  for  the  law  of  duty.1 

It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  profound  of 
Kant's  ideas,  this  one  of  establishing  as  a  principle  the  essen- 
tial distinction  between  the  person  and  the  thing  —  one  being 
of  such  a  nature  that  it  can  never  be  employed  as  a  means, 
but  is  always  and  necessarily  an  end;  the  other  being  never  an 
end,  but  only  capable  of  being  employed  as  a  means.  It  is 
the  characteristic  of  humanity,  that  it  has  a  right  never  to  be 
treated  as  a  thing,  but  to  be  always  respected  as  an  end  in 
itself.  On  what  does  this  privilege  of  humanity  depend? 
On  the  fact  of  moral  personality;  that  is  to  say,  on  the  fact 
of  being  a  free  activity  endowed  with  reason.  Freedom, 
together  with  pure  reason  (which  in  one  sense  Kant  does  not 
even  distinguish  from  pure  reason),  is  that  which  confers  on 
man  the  title  of  person :  this  is  what  is  lacking  in  a  thing. 
Hence  it  follows  that  while  a  thing  may  be  employed  as  a 
means  of  satisfying  our  desires,  humanity  should  never  be 
sacrificed  for  the  gratification  of  our  wishes.  This  truth 
applies  to  ourselves  as  well  as  to  other  men,  and  forms  the 
basis  of  personal,  as  well  as  of  social,  morality.    Under  these 


1  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  this  theory,  in  itself  so  important,  has  not  heen 
systematically  explained  by  Kant  except  in  his  first  treatise  on  philosophy, 
his  Grundlegung  zar  Metaphysik  der  Sitten.  Later  it  disappears  from  the 
Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  or  at  least  it  is  no  longer  regarded  as  a  principle, 
and  is  reproduced  only  incidentally,  being  brought  into  no  connection  with 
the  fundamental  ideas  of  his  theory.  In  his  Critique  of  Practical  Reason, 
Kant  teaches  expressly,  and  without  any  modifications,  the  theory  of  a  purely 
formal  law,  a  law  which  is  its  own  basis,  which  has  neither  end  nor  reason  — 
a  law,  finally,  which  commands  by  its  form,  and  not  by  its  substance.  In  his 
litchtslehre,  in  which  the  theory  of  inviolable  personality  would  most  naturally 
find  a  place,  Kant  considers  only  the  abstract  form  of  right  —  that  is,  the  har- 
monization of  two  freedoms  —  instead  of  seeking  to  base  it  upon  his  theory  of 
humanity  as  an  end  unto  itself.  Finally,  in  his  Tugendlehre,  Kant  does,  in- 
deed, make  free  use  of  this  principle;  but  he  does  not  attempt  to  treat  it  as 
one  of  the  general  principles  of  his  philosophy,  but  refers  to  it  only  as  a  self- 
evident  truth. 


40  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

abstract  formulas  it  is  easy  to  recognize  the  grand  idea  of 
the  eighteenth  century  —  the  idea  which  our  French  philoso- 
phers applied  to  the  social  and  political,  while  Kant  sought 
for  its  root  in  the  moral  order.  It  is  the  idea  of  right  — 
a  principle  which  could  have  no  foundation  if  it  were  not 
admitted  that  there  is  in  man  an  essence  which  no  one  has  a 
right  to  violate,  not  even  he  who  possesses  it :  the  individual 
is,  then,  as  inviolable  to  himself  as  to  others ;  and  the  ideas 
of  right  and  of  duty  spring  from  the  same  root. 

Undoubtedly  this  is  a  noble  and  solid  theory,  but  how 
far  it  can  be  reconciled  with  a  purely  formal  philosophy  is 
another  question.  One  can,  one  even  should,  admit  the 
principle  which  I  have  just  explained ;  but,  if  this  principle 
is  true,  what  becomes  of  the  'theory  of  a  law  which  com- 
mands by  its  form,  and  not  by  its  substance,  which  excludes 
every  object  and  every  end,  requiring  simply  a  subjective  and 
purely  abstract  maxim ;  that  is,  a  firm  will  to  obey  the  law  ? 
In  my  opinion,  the  principle  of  humanity  as  an  end  unto  itself 
corrects  and  completes  the  philosophy  explained  above,  but 
does  so  by  controverting  it. 

If  the  moral  law  can  and  should  express  itself  thus ;  "  Thou 
shalt  always  treat  humanity,  whether  in  thine  own  person  or 
in  that  of  another,  as  an  end,  and  never  use  it  as  a  means  " 
—  if  this  is  the  correct  formula  of  the  moral  law,  then  I  ask  if 
humanity,  or  the  moral  personality,  is  not  here  placed  before 
me  as  an  object  to  be  respected  or  to  be  perfected,  either  in 
myself  or  in  others;  as  an  end  to  be  attained;  in  a  word, 
to  use  Kant's  phraseology,  as  matter  contrasted  with  form  — 
that  is,  as  something  which  is  distinguished  from  the  law  in 
itself,  and  which  is  the  reason  and  ground  for  this  law.  Here 
we  have  something  more  than  the  pure  universal  form  of 
willing :  there  is  an  object  for  our  choice.  There  is  some- 
thing which  is  good  in  itself,  an  ideal  to  be  attained  and 
realized,  apart  from  simple  obedience  to  the  law. 

This  implied  contradiction  in  Kant  has  been  seen  and 
^brought  to  light  by  numerous  German  critics,  among  others 


GOOD   AND   LAW.  41 

by  Schleiermacher,  one  of  the  most  energetic  opponents  of 
the  formalism  of  Kant. 

"  As  to  the  accusations  which  Kant  brings  against  other  schools  [he 
says],  that  they  all  make  the  moral  law  to  rest  upon  something  extrane- 
ous, this  is  unjust  to  many  of  them ;  and  it  may  be  retorted  against  Kant 
himself,  although  he  fancies  himself  perfectly  secure.  In  reality  he  at- 
tains this  appearance  (that  of  a  purely  formal  philosopher)  only  by 
means  of  the  equivocal  nature  of  the  expression  reasonable  being,  which 
may  mean  two  things  —  either  a  being  who  possesses  reason  as  a  faculty, 
and  who  is  consequently  able  to  make  use  of  it ;  or  a  being  who  is  practi- 
cally guided  by  reason,  and  is  possessed  by  it.  Kant  assumes  that  every 
creature  that  is  reasonable  in  the  former  sense  would  also  wish  to  be  so 
in  the  latter,  and  his  philosophy  is  drawn  from  the  idea  of  the  perfection 
of  this  reasonable  being  thus  conceived.  But  how  can  this  object  to  be 
attained  be  regarded  as  any  thing  else  than  an  object  of  the  will?  I 
leave  this  to  be  decided  by  those  who  are  wiser  than  I." 1 

Evidently  Kant  was  led  to  adopt  this  theory  of  humanity 
as  an  end  unto  itself,  by  the  necessity  for  furnishing  the  pure 
and  abstract  law  of  duty  with  a  content,  an  object,  i.e.,  some 
intrinsic  reality.  He  is  so  far  from  seeing  any  contradiction 
between  these  two  ideas  that  he  even  endeavors  to  deduce 
one  from  the  other.  From  the  first  maxim  ;  "  Law  commands 
only  by  its  form,  and  not  by  its  substance,"  he  derives  the 
other ;  "  Humanity  is  an  end  unto  itself."  This  is  the  con- 
clusion of  the  subtle  and  complicated  deduction  by  which 

1  Schleiermacher,  Grundlinien  einer  Kritik  der  bisherigen  Sittenlehre.  (Ber- 
lin, 184G,  p.  49,  1.  i.f  c.  1.)  The  formalism  of  Kant,  which  has  been  very  lit- 
tle discussed  in  France  because  only  its  opposition  to  the  doctrine  of  interest 
was  observed,  has  been  the  object  of  numerous  criticisms  in  Germany.  (See 
Hegel,  Geschichte  der  Philosophie,  edit.  Rosenkranz,  t.  xxv.,  p.  591;  Trende- 
lenburg, Historische  Beitrage,  t.  iii.,  Berlin,  1867  ;  Ueberweg,  Grundriss  der 
Geschichte  der  Philosophie,  t.  iii.,  p.  190,  2d  edit.)  The  object  of  the  moral 
philosophy  of  Schleiermacher,  of  Herbart,  and  Beneke,  was  to  fill  up  the  void 
left  by  this  pure  formalism.  This  formalism  in  Kant's  moral  philosophy  has 
been  justly  connected  with  his  metaphysical  formalism.  It  is  because  he  ad- 
mits only  forms  in  the  theoretical  understanding,  that  he  has  been  led  to  see 
nothing  but  forms  in  the  laws  of  the  practical  reason.  In  truth,  if  the  objective 
part  of  things  (that  is  to  say,  their  essence)  is  utterly  unknown  to  us,  we  can- 
not find  in  it  the  reason  for  our  duties.  We  cannot  tell  what  is  the  objective 
basis  of  duty,  any  more  than  we  can  know  what  is  the  foundation  of  our  idea 
of  causation  or  of  space. 


42  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Kant  endeavors  to  solve  this  strange  problem;  that  is,  he 
would  derive  substance  from  form ;  which,  for  all  who  under- 
stand the  question,  seems,  a  priori,  to  imply  a  contradiction. 

The  moral  value  of  actions,  as  we  have  already  seen,  does 
not  lie  either  in  the  action  itself,  or  in  the  object  of  the  action, 
but  in  the  will  which  accompanies  it.  In  fact,  the  very  same 
action  may  be  moral  or  immoral,  according  to  the  intention 
which  produces  it.  To  give  money  to  some  one,  in  order  to 
assist  him,  is  good ;  to  give  it  to  him  in  order  to  corrupt  him, 
is  bad.  Hence  it  is  the  will,  the  will  alone,  which  is  good  or 
bad.  Bat  on  what  conditions  is  a  will  good?  On  condition 
of  obedience  to  a  universal  law,  without  any  other  aim  or 
any  other  object  than  the  law  itself,  that  is  to  say,  the  law  of 
duty :  in  other  words,  on  condition  of  being  guided  only  by 
the  form,  not  by  the  substance.  But,  if  the  will  ought  not  to 
seek  any  other  aim  than  the  law,  does  it  not  follow  that  this 
will  cannot  be  employed  as  a  means  to  attain  an  end,  and 
consequently  that  it  is  itself  an  end,  that  it  is  sacred  and 
inviolable  for  every  other  will  as  well  as  for  itself?  Thus 
the  will,  which  was  at  first  put  before  us  as  the  subject  of  the 
action,  becomes  its  object :  thus  the  form  of  the  law,  the  only 
principle  of  the  morality,  soon  becomes  its  substance. 

But  who  can  fail  to  see  the  strange  and  subtle  element  in 
this  transformation  ?  The  will  is  at  first  put  before  us  simply 
as  a  power  of  action ;  it  becomes  good  so  far  as  it  is  obedient 
to  a  law ;  this  law,  by  the  hypothesis  and  by  the  definition,  is 
a  law  destitute  of  any  content  or  import,  since  all  matter 
must  be  excluded  from  it !  Now,  how  can  the  will  to  obey 
a  law  which  is  empty  and  wholly  formal,  introduce  into  this 
law  the  fulness  which  it  lacks?  To  attempt  to  produce  a 
real  and  concrete  moral  philosophy  from  one  which  is  formal 
and  purely  mandatory,  is  an  error  like  that  of  those  political 
economists  who  fancy  they  can  increase  capital  by  increasing 
the  paper  which  represents  it.  When  Kant  passes  from  the 
idea  of  a  good  will  to  the  idea  of  humanity  considered  as  an 
end  unto  itself,  he  does  not,  as  he  imagines,  pass  from  one 


GOOD  AND  LAW.  43 

thing  to  another  similar  one.  Schleiermacher  notes  this  in 
the  remarks  I  have  already  quoted.  Will,  or  the  power  to  act 
according  to  reason,  which  is  the  subject  of  the  law,  is  not 
identical  with  the  reasonable  will,  which  is  its  object.  It  is 
because  we  imagine  a  perfectly  reasonable  being,  one  in  whom 
all  passions  would  be  subjected  to  reason,  or  even  would  not 
exist  at  all ;  it  is  because  we  can  represent  to  ourselves  an 
ideal  humanity  under  these  conditions,  that  we  conceive  it 
to  be  our  duty  to  recognize  that  ideal ;  and  it  is  in  obeying 
the  call  of  this  duty  that  a  real  and  concrete  will  is  good. 
Such  are  the  three  elements  of  morality  —  an  object  to  at- 
tain (the  ideal  humanity),  a  law  which  commands  us  to 
attain  this  object,  a  subject  capable  of  obeying  this  law.  If 
you  suppress  the  first  of  these  three  elements,  the  two  others 
are  empty,  and  utterly  destitute  of  any  moral  worth ;  and  it 
would  be  impossible  to  produce  the  first  from  the  other  two. 

All  those  who,  following  the  example  of  Kant  or  of  Fichte, 
attempt  to  deduce  from  the  fact  of  liberty  the  law  of  liberty, 
fall  into  a  delusion  like  that  which  I  have  just  pointed  out. 
They  confound  the  two  meanings  of  the  word  liberty  — 
liberty  as  the  power  to  act,  and  liberty  as  the  ideal  of  action. 

We  may,  indeed,  admit  that  liberty  in  the  latter  sense,  as 
the  ideal  state  of  man,  as  freedom  from  all  passions,  as  pure 
reason  always  obeyed,  may  be  regarded  as  the  paramount 
good,  and  the  highest  reason  for  all  morality;  but  how, 
then,  can  the  theory  of  formalism  be  maintained  ?  How  can 
it  be  denied  that  the  will  really  has  an  aim,  an  object,  a 
substance  of  action?  If,  on  the  contrary,  you  understand 
by  liberty,  arbitrary  liberty,  or  the  power  of  choosing  be- 
tween opposites,  how  can  the  idea  of  a  pure  liberty,  of  an 
inviolable  personality,  of  an  ideal  humanity,  be  deduced  from 
it?  What  conclusion  can  be  drawn  from  the  fact  that  I  am 
free  to  choose  between  two  actions  ?  "  To  be  free,  remain 
free,"  it  has  been  said.  But  how  could  I  help  being  free  ? 
Am  I  not  just  as  free  when  I  obey  passion  as  when  I  obey 
reason  ?     I  lower  myself,  you  say.     It   may  be :  but,  then, 


44  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

you  are  speaking  of  another  liberty,  of  an  enlightened  lib- 
erty, of  the  liberty  of  reason;  while  the  fact  of  arbitrary 
liberty  is  the  simple  naked  fact  of  the  possibility  of  choice. 
This  very  possibility,  it  will  then  be  said,  is  just  what  con- 
stitutes my  dignity,  which  I  ought  not  to  compromise. 
Granted;  but  how  could  this  interior  dignity  be  compro- 
mised by  one  action  rather  than  by  another,  since  both  are 
equally  free  ?  Am  I  not  just  as  free  in  doing  what  is  called 
evil  as  in  doing  what  is  called  good?  Yes,  undoubtedly, 
since  I  am  equally  responsible  in  both  cases.  Then,  why 
should  evil  be  any  more  contrary  to  my  liberty  than  good  ? 
As  to  other  men,  how  could  I  violate  their  liberty,  since 
interior  liberty,  arbitrary  liberty,  is  from  its  nature  incapa- 
ble of  coercion,  and,  whatever  I  might  do,  I  could  never 
violate  any  one's  liberty  in  that  sense  of  the  word  ?  This 
proposition,  "  To  be  free,  remain  free,"  is,  then,  the  same  as 
saying ;  Use  your  arbitrary  liberty  to  acquire  the  liberty  of 
your  reason.1  The  word  free  has  not  the  same  meaning  in 
both  cases :  one  cannot  be  deduced  from  the  other.  Here  is 
not  an  analytical  but  a  synthetical  proposition. 

To  sum  up,  all  the  moralists  who,  like  Kant  and  Fichte, 
have  deduced  from  the  fact  of  liberty  the  law  of  duty,  and 
from  the  law  of  duty  the  idea  of  good,  have  inverted  the 
true  order  of  these  ideas.  Liberty,  considered  as  the  power 
of  choosing,  is  not  in  itself  superior  to  any  other  force  of 
nature  :  it  becomes  noble  only  by  obeying  law.  Law,  in  its 
turn,  considered  as  an  imperative,  universal  rule,  is  in  no 
way  superior  to  the  brutal  order  of  an  arbitrary  will,  unless 
it  is  based  upon  the  principle  of  good.  Thus,  it  is  the  pre- 
existence  of  good  which  gives  legitimacy  to  the  rule  of  duty ; 
and  it  is  this  rule,  in  its  turn,  which,  applied  to  liberty,  gives 
to  this  dignity  and  beauty. 

1  The  eminent  author  of  an  Essay  upon  Liberty  (Daniel  Stern)  has  distin- 
guished the  liberty  "  which  we  possess"  from  that  "by  which  we  wish  to  be 
possessed  "  (Preface,  p.  viii.).  This  distinction  is  a  profound  one.  One  is  the 
power,  the  other  is  the  aim:  one  is  subjective,  the  other  is  objective. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION. 

"TTTE  have  seen,  in  the  two  preceding  chapters,  that 
*  *  Utilitarianism  and  Kant's  philosophy  are  both  insuffi- 
cient—  the  former,  because  it  gives  no  rules,  and  thus  de- 
stroys all  morality ;  the  second,  because,  while  giving  a  rule, 
it  is  one  which  has  neither  motive  nor  reason,  which  com- 
mands and  compels  without  saying  why.  There  is,  however, 
this  difference  between  the  two  philosophies  —  that  the  first, 
that  of  pleasure,  has  no  moral  character  whatever :  while  the 
second  has  indeed  a  moral  character,  and  that  the  true  one ; 
but  it  is  incomplete  and  mutilated. 

Now,  as  it  never  happens  that  a  system  of  philosophy  is 
thoroughly  consistent  with  itself,  we  have  seen  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  this  double  deficiency  has  led  each  system  to 
give  tacit  recognition,  under  another  form,  to  the  element 
which  was  at  first  disregarded  in  its  pure  theory.  Thus,  the 
school  of  pleasure,  in  making  a  distinction  in  pleasure  be- 
tween the  quality  and  the  quantity,  has  by  this  very  act  con- 
fessed the  existence  of  a  principle  superior  to  pleasure. 
Thus,  also,  the  school  of  abstract  duty,  in  basing  duty  upon 
the  dignity  of  the  moral  personality,  and  upon  the  worth  of 
the  man  regarded  as  an  end  unto  himself,  destroys  by  impli- 
cation its  own  theory  of  abstract  duty  which  commands  us 
by  its  form',  and  not  by  its  substance,  and  makes  all  objects 
and  all  ends  pure  abstractions. 

Thus,  the  philosophy  of  pleasure  lays  down  a  rule,  but  it 
does  so  by  an  unconscious  abandonment  of  the  philosophy 
of  pleasure ;  and  the  school  of  purely  formal  duty  gives  an 

45 


46  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

object,  an  end,  an  aim  to  duty,  without  suspecting  that  in 
doing  so  it  has  left  behind  pure  formalism. 

Now,  on  the  one  hand,  what  these  new  Utilitarians  call 
the  quality  of  pleasure  depends,  even  by  their  own  admis- 
sion, on  the  superiority  of  certain  faculties  over  others ;  that 
is  to  say,  on  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  which  is  at  bot- 
tom the  same  as  Kant's  principle  of  humanity  as  an  end  unto 
itself.  On  the  other  hand,  this  dignity  or  excellence  of 
human  nature  is,  in  'its  turn,  so  far  as  we  possess  it  and  are 
conscious  of  its  possession,  accompanied  by  the  best  and 
purest  pleasure.  We  see  thus  that  these  two  principles, 
introduced  surreptitiously  by  the  two  schools  into  their  for- 
mulas to  complete  and  correct  them,  form,  in  reality,  but 
one,  which  is,  both  in  my  opinion  and  in  theirs,  the  true 
principle  of  all  moral  science,  and  which  may  be  denned  as 
being  the  identity  of  perfection  and  of  happiness.  In  mak- 
ing clear  this  principle,  which  lies,  unconsciously  and  dimly 
understood,  at  the  root  of  the  two  rival  theories,  I  am 
simply  bringing  to  light  the  object  which  all  philosophical 
traditions,  from  Socrates  to  Leibnitz,  have  always  assigned 
to  moral  science. 

Let  us  analyze  this  principle  under  both  its  aspects :  the 
one,  more  metaphysical,  perfection ;  the  other,  more  psycho- 
logical, happiness;  the  one  more  objective,  the  other  more 
subjective ;  the  one  more  ideal,  the  other  more  real ;  the  one 
accessible  to  philosophers,  the  other  to  men  in  general  — 
but  which,  in  spite  of  these  apparent  and  secondary  differ- 
ences, form  at  bottom  one  and  the  same  principle,  which  is, 
the  fulness  of  the  human  essence  possessed  and  felt.  Such 
is  the  idea  of  good  which  we  are  commanded  to  realize 
within  ourselves;  happiness  being,  as  Spinoza  most  wisely 
said,  not  merely  the  recompense  of  virtue,  but  the  very 
virtue  itself.1 

Malebranche  has  remarked  that  things  are  distinguishable 

1  For  a  complete  exposition  of  this  fundamental  proposition,  see  B.  iii.( 
chap.  xi. 


EtyTION.       47 

from  each  other,  not  merely  by  their  size  or  quantity,  bul 
also  by  their  perfection  or  quality.  Hence  arises  a  double 
series  of  relations  —  those  of  quantity,  which  are  the  object 
of  mathematics ;  those  of  perfection  or  excellence,  which  are 
the  object  of  moral  science. 

"  An  animal  [says  Malebranche]  is  worth  more  than  a  stone,  and  less 
than  a  man,  because  there  are  wider  relations  of  perfection  in  the  animal 
as  compared  with  the  stone,  than  in  the  stone  as  compared  with  the 
animal,  and  narrower  ones  in  the  animal  as  compared  with  man,  than  in 
the  man  as  compared  with  the  animal.  And  he  who  perceives  these 
relations  of  perfection,  perceives  truths  which  ought  to  regulate  his 
esteem,  and  consequently  the  kind  of  love  which  is  dependent  upon 
esteem.  But  any  one  who  esteems  his  horse  more  highly  than  his  coach- 
man, or  who  believes  that  a  stone  is  in  itself  more  estimable  than,  a 
fly,  .  .  .  necessarily  falls  into  error  and  confusion." 

Not  only  do  things  or  beings  have  certain  comparative 
relations  of  excellence  or  of  perfection,  but,  even  in  one  and 
the  same  being,  the  different  qualities  of  which  he  is  com- 
posed also  have  relations  of  the  same  sort.  Hence  in  man  we 
prefer  the  soul  to  the  body,  the  heart  to  the  senses,  reason  to 
passion,  etc.  Thus  here  also  there  is  a  scale  whose  degrees 
should  measure  the  degrees  of  our  esteem,  and  consequently 
should  govern  our  actions  in  conformity  with  this  esteem. 

Now,  let  us  bear  in  mind  that  this  scale  of  goods  does 
not  always  correspond  with  the  scale  of  pleasures.  There 
must  be,  then,  some  internal  and  essential  character  by  which 
we  estimate  and  classify  them.  This  character,  by  which  we 
recognize  one  thing  as  being  better  than  another,  even 
although  we  may  not  like  it  so  well,  is  what  we  call  per- 
fection.1 

Now,  what  is  perfection  ?  and  how  can  we  tell  that  one 
thing  is  more  perfect  than  another?  If  perfection  is  the 
criterion  of  good,  what  is  the  criterion  of  perfection  ?  • 

1  The  principle  of  perfection,  which  reigned  a  long  time,  especially  in  the 
school  of  Leibnitz  and  Wolf,  has  been  generally  abandoned  since  the  appear- 
ance of  Kant's  philosophy.  To-day  there  is  a  tendency  to  return  to  it.  See 
that  solid  work  by  M.  Ferraz,  La  Science  du  Devoir,  Paris,  1869. 


48  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

We  find  this  difficulty  in  every  system.  Every  one  ends 
at  last  with  a  final  because,  beyond  which  there  is  nothing. 
The  partisans  of  pleasure  do  not  escape  this  difficulty,  if  it 
is  one. 

"We  cannot  [says  Mr.  Mill]  prove  that  any  one  thing  is  excellent, 
except  by  proving  that  it  serves  as  a  means  for  attaining  another  thing 
which  is  itself  recognized  as  being  excellent  without  any  proof.  The 
medical  art  is  proved  to  be  good  by  its  conducing  to  health ;  but  how  is 
it  possible  to  prove  that  health  is  good  ?  The  art  of  music  is  good,  for 
the  reason,  among  others,  that  it  produces  pleasure ;  but  what  proof  is 
it  possible  to  give  that  pleasure  is  good  ?  " 

For  the  same  reason  which  leads  Mr.  Mill  to  admit  without 
proof  that  health  is  good  and  that  pleasure  is  good,  I  think 
that  we  must  admit  without  proof  that  things  are  good,  even 
independently  of  the  pleasure  which  they  give  us,  in  them- 
selves and  by  themselves,  because  of  their  intrinsic  excel- 
lence. If  any  one  were  to  demand  that  I  should  prove  that 
thought  is  worth  more  than  digestion,  a  tree  more  than  a 
heap  of  stones,  liberty  than  slavery,  maternal  love  than 
luxury,  I  could  only  reply  by  asking  him  to  demonstrate 
that  the  whole  is  greater  than  one  of  its  parts.  No  sensible 
person  denies,  that  in  passing  from  the  mineral  kingdom  to 
the  vegetable  kingdom,  from  this  to  the  animal  kingdom, 
from  the  animal  to  man,  from  the  savage  to  the  enlightened 
citizen  of  a  free  country,  Nature  has  made  a  continual 
advance ;  that  is  to  say,  at  each  step  she  has  gained  in  excel- 
lence and  perfection. 

Every  one  remembers  this  one  of  Pascal's  "  Thoughts :  "  — 

"Man  is  a  reed,  the  weakest  thing  in  nature,  but  he  is  a  thinking 
reed.  .  .  .  Even  if  the  universe  should  crush  him,  he  would  be  more 
noble  than  that  which  killed  him:  for  he  knows  that  he  dies,  and  he 
recognizes  the  advantage  which  the  universe  has  over  him.  The  uni- 
verse knows  nothing  of  all  this."  x 

i  I  follow  the  punctuation  adopted  by  M.  Havet :  see  Penstes  de  Pascal, 
art  1,  t.  i.  p.  11. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.        49 

Voltaire,  in  commenting  on  this,  adds  these  words :  "  What 
does  'more  noble'  mean?  .  .  .  We  are  both  judge  and  cli- 
ent." But  it  is  not  merely  because  we  are  both  judge  and 
client,  that  we  regard  that  which  thinks  as  more  noble  than 
that  which  does  not  think.  Man,  putting  himself  out  of  the 
question,  does  not  hesitate  to  recognize  a  comparative  value 
among  things,  and  to  consider  as  more  noble  each  new  attri- 
bute which  is  added  to  those  anterior,  and  completes  them. 
Thus,  life  is  nobler  than  movement,  pure  and  simple ;  feeling 
is  nobler  than  vegetation ;  thought  and  activity  are  nobler 
than  feeling ;  and,  in  general,  to  be  is  better  than  not  to  be. 
In  proportion  as  the  being  grows  in  intensity  he  grows  in 
perfection,  and,  by  the  same  fact,  even  in  happiness  also : 
each  of  these  degrees  of  growth  is  a  step  forward  in  dignity, 
in  nobility,  in  excellence  ;  all  these  terms  are  synonymous. 

The  Scotch  philosopher,  Hutcheson,  who  maintained  the 
doctrine  of  the  moral  sense,  recognized  also  another  sense, 
which  he  called  the  sense  of  dignity,1  and  which  he  distin- 
guished from  the  former.  It  is  this  sense,  according  to  him, 
by  which  we  recognize  immediately  the  decency  or  the  dig- 
nity of  actions.  In  my  view,  the  moral  sense  is  identical 
with  the  sense  of  dignity. 

While  I  admit  that  perfection,  like  every  other  primitive 
idea,  is  very  difficult  to  define,  it  may,  nevertheless,  be  ex- 
plained and  analyzed  in  such  a  way  as  to  remove  some  of 
the  indefiniteness  which  it  has  at  first. 

If,  for  instance,  we  consider  the  examples  just  mentioned, 
for  which  all  men  seem  to  have  a  sort  of  natural  and  instinc- 
tive valuation,  we  shall  see  that  the  excellence  or  the  dignity 
of  things  is  measured  by  the  intensity  or  the  development  of 
their  being ;  in  a  word,  by  their  activity. 

It  is  indubitable,  that  as  between  two  beings,  one  of  which 
is,  or  appears  to  be,  inert,  while  the  other  is  endowed  with 
activity,  we  should  naturally  attribute  more  excellence  to 
one  than  to  another.     Thus,  we  regard  the  animal  as  being 

i  Hutcheson,  System  of  Moral  Philosophy,  B.  i.,  c.  ii.,  6,  7. 


50  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

superior  to  the  vegetable,  because  lie  enjoys  a  more  powerful 
and  independent  activity :  thus,  the  oyster  and  the  tortoise 
have  become  symbols  of  stupidity  and  of  sluggishness,  be- 
cause of  their  immobility,  or  slowness  of  movement.  Thus, 
waking  appears  to  every  one  superior  to  sleeping ;  Aristotle 
expresses  this  feeling  when  he  says  that  "  the  happy  man  is 
not  he  who  sleeps,  but  he  who  wakes :  and  the  gods  them- 
selves are  happy  only  because  they  are  in  action ;  for  appar- 
ently they  are  not  always  sleeping,  like  Endymion."  For 
the  same  reason,  the  excellence  or  perfection  of  beings  in- 
creases with  the  number  of  their  attributes,  because  their 
activity  increases  in  the  same  proportion. 

But,  if  we  attempt  to  consider  the  different  attributes  of 
one  and  the  same  being,  by  what  standard  shall  we  determine 
the  degree  of  perfection  or  excellence  which  they  may  have  ? 
Always  by  the  same  principle.  If  activity  (that  is,  the  in- 
tensity of  being)  is  indeed  the  essential  principle  of  perfec- 
tion, the  greatest  and  most  powerful  activity  will  be  the 
best.  But  the  greatest  activity  is  that  which  suffices  most 
perfectly  unto  itself,  which  has  the  least  need  of  exterior 
things  in  order  to  subsist ;  in  a  word,  that  which  can  draw 
the  most  from  itself  and  its  own  resources.  According  to 
this,  spontaneous  activity  is  superior  to  that  which  is  con- 
strained: the  movements  of  the  feelings  and  passions  are  of 
higher  value  than  the  mechanical  movements  of  inert  matter. 
Moreover,  the  impulses  of  feeling  are  guided  and  produced 
by  external  objects :  on  the  contrary,  the  activity  of  reason 
finds  within  itself  all  that  is  necessary  for  action  ;  it  is,  then, 
truly  independent ;  it  is,  then,  the  fullest  and  richest  activity, 
and  consequently  is  the  best. 

It  is  also  a  question  among  moral  philosophers,  whether 
some  part  of  the  emotions,  that  is,  love,  enthusiasm,  courage, 
the  source  of  noble  feelings,  may  not  be  superior  even  to 
reason,  since  they  cause  us  to  live  a  more  profound  and  noble 
life,  and  enable  us  to  penetrate  farther,  and  into  higher  myste- 
ries than  reason  itself.   In  whatever  way  this  problem  may  be 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.       51 

solved,  one  can  rank  reason  above  feeling,  or  feeling  above 
reason,  only  by  proving  that  one  of  these  faculties  gives 
greater  intensity  of  being,  and,  therefore,  more  activity  and 
more  life ;  and  if  we  admit  what  appears  to  be  the  true  solu- 
tion, that  they  are  and  ought  to  be  inseparable,  and  that  a 
reason  without  emotion,  or  an  enthusiasm  without  reason, 
would  be  equally  incomplete  forms  of  human  life,  this  also 
must  be  proved  by  showing  that  the  activity  of  man,  and 
consequently  his  power,  is  mutilated  when  reduced  to  pure 
reason  or  to  exalted  sensibility. 

But  if  the  principle  of  perfection  is  defined  as  the  idea  of 
activity  or  of  power,  how  can  we  say  with  Pascal,  that  a  reed 
which  thinks  is  superior  to  the  universe?  How  can  it  be  said, 
that,  if  the  universe  should  crush  me,  I  would  be  nobler  than 
that  which  killed  me,  because  I  should  know  that  I  was  dy- 
ing ?  In  this  case  would  not  the  universe  be  stronger  than 
I?  Would  it  not  exhibit  a  greater  activity,  greater  force, 
and  would  it  not,  consequently,  according  to  this  principle, 
be  greatly  superior  to  me  ? 

If  we  reflect  upon  this  difficulty,  we  shall  see  that  an  activ 
ity  which  is  exerted  without  any  consciousness  of  itself  is 
the  same  as  though  it  did  not  exist.  For  to  whom  would  it 
be  an  activity  ?  Not  to  itself,  for  it  lacks  consciousness ;  but 
only  to  the  mind  which  contemplates  and  considers  it.  This 
is  the  reason  why  the  profound  metaphysicians  of  India  have 
said  that  Nature  exists  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  thought,  and 
is  seen  by  the  soul.  She  is  like  a  dancer,  they  said  poetically, 
who  retires  when  she  has  been  seen.  If  the  universe  were 
to  crush  man,  it  would  thereby  destroy  the  only  reason  for 
its  own  existence.1    It  would  reduce  itself  to  a  sort  of  non- 

1  Let  any  one  attempt  to  imagine  the  universe  rolling  through  space  in  the 
absence  ot  any  thinking  being,  and  having  never  found  any  consciousness  in 
which  to  reflect  itself  under  the  form  of  science  or  of  art,  and  he  will  feel  con- 
vinced that  such  a  mode  of  existence  is  not  far  removed  from  nothingness.  If, 
within  this  immense  and  profound  silence,  a  consciousness  should  appear,  were 
it  but  for  an  instant,  at  that  moment  there  would  be  life  and  being  in  the  world, 
and  the  world  itself  would  have  lived  for  that  moment  only. 


52  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

existence.  True  activity  is  conscious  activity:  if  it  lasted 
no  longer  than  a  flash  of  lightning,  it  would  still  be  nobler 
than  that  which  destroyed  it ;  for,  in  that  imperceptible  in- 
stant, it  recognized  itself  as  activity ;  it  took  possession  of  its 
own  being ;  and  this  the  universe  has  never  done. 

We  will,  then,  say  with  Spinoza,  that  perfection  is  life, 
that  good  or  evil  consists  in  the  increase  or  the  diminution  of 
life.  Every  thing  which  increases  our  power  we  call  good  : 
every  thing  which  diminishes  it  we  call  evil.  Liberty,  con- 
science, thought,  increase  our  power  and  our  life  :  blind  and 
brutal  passion,  on  the  contrary,  reduces  us  to  slavery  to 
things.  There  is,  then,  more  good  in  a  reasonable  life  than 
in  one  of  passion. 

These  principles  may  be  contested,  if  you  say :  You  assume, 
without  proof,  that  to  be  is  better  than  not  to  be.  This  pos- 
tulate has  no  value  save  what  it  borrows  from  man's  in- 
stinctive and  animal  love  for  life.  This  instinct  was  trans- 
formed by  Spinoza  into  a  law  in  his  celebrated  axiom ;  "  All 
life  tends  to  persevere  in  life."  From  this  law  he  derives  the 
principle  of  his  philosophy,  which  is,  that  every  being  ought 
to  strive  unceasingly  to  grow  in  life  and  in  reality.  But,  on 
the  contrary,  a  profounder  philosophy  teaches  us  that  not 
to  be  is  better  than  to  be,  that  nothingness  is  superior  to 
existence,  and  that  annihilation,  or  Nirvana,  is  the  highest 
good.  This  is  the  doctrine  taught  by  the  greatest  religion 
of  the  East,  Buddhism:  it  is  that  of  Schopenhauer,  the 
misanthropic  philosopher  of  Frankfort. 

I  have  no  answer  to  make  to  men  who  really  and  sincerely 
prefer  non-existence  to  existence,  and  who  regard  annihila- 
tion as  the  greatest  of  all  goods.  But  we  have  reason  to 
believe  that  the  doctrine  of  Nirvana  is  only  an  exaggerated 
and  hyperbolical  form  in  which  highly  wrought  and  mystical 
minds  express  their  contempt  for  apparent  and  fleeting  exist- 
ence, and  their  need  of  an  absolute  life.  I  do  not  think  it 
by  any  means  demonstrated,  notwithstanding  the  assertions 
of  Messrs.  EugSne  Burnouf,  Barthelemy  Saint-Hilaire,  Max 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.       53 

Miiller,  etc.,  that  Nirvana  means  annihilation  in  the  sense 
in  which  we  understand  that  word.  As  to  the  Frankfort 
philosopher,  it  seems  to  me  clear  that  he  spoke  only  of  a  rela- 
tive Nirvana,  not  of  an  absolute  one.  Is  not  this  the  mean- 
ing of  the  concluding  lines  in  his  book  ?  — 

"  What  remains  after  the  entire  abolition  of  the  will  [he  says]  is 
doubtless,  to  those  who  are  still  full  of  will,  a  Nothing.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  to  those  who  have  advanced  so  far  that  the  will  denies  itself,  it  is 
our  make-believe  world,  with  all  its  suns  and  its  milky  ways,  which  is 
itself— a  Nothing."1 

In  these  lines  I  can  see  only  an  exaggerated  expression  of  his 
philosophical  contempt  for  the  things  of  this  world,  not  the 
systematic  affirmation  of  an  absolute  nothing,  considered  as 
superior  to  being.  But  this  is  not  the  proper  place  in  which 
to  discuss  the  doctrine  of  Nirvana.  It  is  sufficient  to  remark, 
that  the  only  logical  consequence  of  this  doctrine  would  be 
universal  suicide,2  which  would  make  it  quite  useless  to  seek 
for  any  principle  of  morality. 

The  idea  of  perfection  involves,  not  only  the  idea  of  ac- 
tivity, but  also  that  of  order,  of  harmony,  of  regular  and 
proportionate  relations.  Suppose,  for  example,  that  the 
activities  or  forces  of  which  the  universe  is  composed  were 
in  a  state  of  conflict  or  perpetual  warfare,  in  such  a  way 
that  every  production  would  be  immediately  followed  by  a 
destruction,  and  that,  from  the  conflict  of  these  forces, 
there  should  proceed  no  fixed  and  stable  existence,  having  a 
determinate  essence,  but  every  thing  should  be  devoured  by 
every  thing,  and  all  being  should  be  lost  in  all  being,  in  a 
perpetual  and  infinite  flux  and  reflux :  in  such  a  universe, 
contemplated  in  some  sort  from  the  outside,  we  might,  in- 
deed, find  force  and  power ;  but  we  should  find  there  neither 

1  Schopenhauer,  Die  Welt  als  Wille,  1.  iv.  end. 

2  Schopenhauer  saw  clearly  that  this  was  the  legitimate  consequence  of  his 
doctrine,  but  he  endeavored  to  reject  it.  According  to  him,  suicide  is  useless, 
and  is  no  true  annihilation,  because  the  will  continues  to  exist,  and  is  eternal. 
But,  as  this  persistence  of  the  will  is  absolutely  impersonal,  what  would  it  mat- 
ter to  the  individual  whether  the  will  existed,  or  not  ? 


54  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

beauty  nor  goodness.  Perfection  would  be  entirely  lacking, 
at  least  all  perfection  which  would  be  appreciable  and  intel- 
ligible to  us.  Hence,  in  order  that  activity  may  seem  to  us 
to  be  endowed  with  goodness  and  excellence,  it  is  not  enough 
that  it  should  be  a  brutish  activity,  occupied  in  destroying 
as  much  as  in  producing,  acting  in  void  and  emptiness :  it 
must  act  with  a  certain  degree  of  order,  a  certain  regularity. 
To  make  its  works  seem  good  and  beautiful,  they  must  be 
intelligible,  rational :  it  is  this  which  at  the  same  time  ren- 
ders them  possible  and  durable.  In  short,  in  order  that  an 
object  may  exist  and  last,  were  it  but  for  a  second,  it  is 
essential  that  the  various  activities  from  which  it  results 
should  be  in  accord  for  a  moment,  that  they  should,  to  a 
certain  extent,  agree;  the  different  elements  of  which  it  is 
composed  must  be  in  equilibrium ;  a  definable  law  must  sus- 
tain them,  and  restrain  them  within  certain  limits  of  har- 
mony. To  use  Plato's  formula,  the  multitude  must  be 
brought  to  unity. 

Thus,  to  the  Aristotelian  principle  of  action  (hepytia) 
must  be  added  the  Platonic  and  Stoic  principle  of  one  in 
many  (jo  h  h?\  ttoAAwi/),  of  harmony,  of  agreement  with  itself, 
consensus  (6/xoXoyta).  This  second  principle  gives  us  the 
same  scale  as  the  first.  The  scale  of  beings  is  determined 
by  this  relation  of  the  one  and  many,  in  precisely  the  same 
way  as  by  the  principle  of  activity. 

In  a  mineral,  for  example,  there  is  very  little  diversity,  and 
very  little  unity.  Little  diversity,  for  the  parts  of  a  mineral 
are  homogeneous :  each  bit  of  iron  is  iron,  each  bit  of  chalk 
is  chalk.  Little  unity,  for  a  mineral  never  forms  an  indi- 
vidual, but  only  a  mass :  it  grows  indefinitely  by  juxtaposi- 
tion, and  may  be  broken  into  as  many  particles  as  one 
pleases ;  the  part  is  just  as  much  a  mineral  as  is  the  whole. 
In  a  plant  we  find  at  once  more  diversity  and  more  unity 
than  in  the  mineral.  We  find  more  diversity,  for  the  parts  of 
the  plant  differ  one  from  another  in  structure  and  in  function 
—  root,  stem,  leaves,  flowers,  etc.  —  more  unity,  for  a  plant, 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.        55 

if  cut  in  two,  will  not  be  two  plants:  a  tree  cut  through 
the  centre  will  not  make  two  trees.  Here  there  is  already  the 
beginning  of  individuality.  Individuality  is  greater  in  the 
animal,  first,  because  it  is  accompanied  by  consciousness; 
and  second,  because  it  is  independent  of  its  environment, 
and  can  transport  itself  from  one  place  to  another  by  spon- 
taneous motion.  Finally,  this  individuality  is  very  much 
greater  in  man  than  in  the  animal,  for  in  him  it  is  not  only 
felt,  but  is  also  reflected  upon :  man  contemplates  and  thus 
knows  himself.  But  at  the  same  time  that  there  exists  in 
man  a  closer  and  profounder  unity,  there  is  also  a  diver- 
sity of  phenomena  far  richer  and  more  abundant  than  is 
found  in  any  other  creature ;  the  passions  have  more  objects ; 
the  imagination  has  an  illimitable  field ;  the  ideas  and  affec- 
tions, which  are  but  a  germ  in  the  animal,  are  innumerable 
in  man :  he  is  a  mirror  of  the  universe ;  he  is  a  microcosm. 

Can  we  apply  the  same  standard  when,  instead  of  meas- 
uring and  comparing  beings,  we  wish  to  compare  and  esti- 
mate the  various  faculties  of  one  and  the  same  being,  or  of 
the  various  goods  which  he  is  naturally  led  to  seek  after  ? 

Let  us  consider  the  soul  itself.  Here  we  can  distinguish 
what  may  be  called  three  stages  of  life :  in  the  first  stage 
are  what  Bossuet  calls  the  operations  of  sense  (operations 
sensitives)  —  that  is,  the  senses,  and  the  passions  connected 
with  them,  imagination  and  memory,  which  are  but  the  pro- 
longation of  sensation ;  above  these,  courage,  the  affections, 
enthusiasm,  what  Plato  calls  the  6v[xo<;  and  the  cpws  (courage 
and  love) ;  finally,  in  the  third  stage,  thought  and  liberty, 
which  constitute  the  moral  personality. 

Every  one  will  agree  in  considering  the  life  of  the  senses 
(the  animal  life,  as  Maine  de  Biran  calls  it)  as  inferior  to  the 
two  others.  Do  you  ask  for  proof?  This  life  ordinarily  con- 
sists entirely  in  folly  and  idiocy.  But  who  would  consent  to 
become  a  fool  or  idiot  on  condition  of  enjoying  all  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  senses,  of  preserving  health,  being  rich,  having 
concerts  and  castles,  being  surrounded  by  luxury,  etc.  ?    No 


56  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

one  would  willingly  accept  such  a  destiny:  a  life  of  the 
severest  labor  would  appear  preferable,  even  to  a  voluptuary. 
Hence  it  is  not  pleasures  alone  which  attract  and  captivate 
one :  it  is  also,  and  still  more,  the  possession  of  one's  self, 
the  consciousness  of  personality. 

By  this  we  see  that  the  life  of  the  senses  themselves  is 
worth  nothing,  has  no  value,  even  in  the  opinion  of  those 
who  seek  it,  except  in  so  far  as  it  is  united  with  conscious- 
ness, with  memory,  with  intelligence ;  in  a  word,  with  some 
degree  of  personality.  Now,  consciousness,  personality,  is 
precisely  that  which  gives  some  unity  to  the  multiplicity  of 
our  sensations ;  by  it  the  life  of  the  senses  in  man  becomes 
superior  to  the  life  of  the  animal:  waking  is  superior  to 
sleeping,  reason  to  folly  or  idiocy,  health  to  sickness.  In 
what  is  called  man's  normal  condition,  there  is  more  equilib- 
rium, more  unity,  more  agreement,  and  consequently  more 
good,  than  in  any  abnormal  state. 

If  even  the  life  of  the  senses  demands  a  certain  unity,  it 
may  be  said  that  the  life  of  the  heart  and  the  life  of  the 
mind  require  much  more ;  for  this  very  reason  each  of  these 
is  better  than  the  first. 

All  psychologists  and  moralists  have  observed,  that  by  his 
senses  man  distracts  himself ;  that  he  makes  himself  subordi- 
nate to  exterior  things,  that  he  dissipates  himself,  and  in  a 
certain  sense  loses  himself  in  the  dust  of  his  own  phenom- 
ena. Hence  comes  the  weariness  which  a  life  of  dissipation 
generally  leaves  behind  it :  the  man  who  has  sacrificed  every 
thing  to  the  life  of  pleasure  feels  himself  useless,  eclipsed, 
and  annihilated ;  he  finds  that  in  a  sense  he  has  lost  himself ; 
he  has  sacrificed  the  unity  of  his  being  to  the  multitude  of 
his  sensations.  This  is  the  idea  which  the  apostle  Paul  ex- 
presses when  he  contrasts  what  he  calls  the  inner  man  with 
the  outer  man,  the  spirit  with  the  flesh. 

This  unity  of  the  inner  man  should  not  be  understood  to 
mean  a  state  of  absolute  simplicity,  like  that  simplification  of 
the  soul  (cvwo-ts),  which  is  the  illusion  of  the  mystics;  for 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.        57 

pure  and  absolute  unity  is  something  as  indistinct  and  indefi- 
nite as  absolute  plurality.  It  is  merely  that  union  of  the 
one  and  the  many  which  constitutes  good,  or  perfection. 
Perfection,  then,  will  be  accord,  harmony,  just  proportion. 
Thus,  he  who  lives  the  life  of  the  mind,  or  of  the  heart,  or 
of  both  at  the  same  time,  and  who  governs  his  passions  and 
affections  by  reason,  he,  like  a  wise  being,  reconciles  diversity 
with  unity:  he  unceasingly  augments  the  richness  of  his 
nature,  while  he  subordinates  it  to  that  unity  of  direction 
which  resides  in  thought. 

It  is  under  this  aspect  of  a  well-ordered  republic  that 
Plato,  throughout  his  dialogues,  shows  us  the  beauty  and  the 
excellence  of  the  human  soul.  Everywhere  he  sees  good- 
ness and  beauty  (jb  KoXoKayaObv)  in  order  and  in  harmony ; 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  relation  between  one  and  several.  All 
things  good  in  nature  result  from  the  commingling  of  a 
mobile,  inconsistent,  undetermined  part,  and  of  a  part  which 
rules,  measures,  and  contains  the  first.  This  is  true  of  the 
movements  of  the  stars,  of  the  revolutions  of  the  seasons: 
it  is  true  in  the  body  of  health,  and  in  the  mind  of  wisdom. 
Wisdom  is  the  health  of  the  soul :  both  are  an  equilibrium,  a 
harmony.  The  soul,  if  it  would  be  happy  and  wise,  must  be 
kept  in  due  order.  Measure,  from  which  grace  is  born,  is 
the  sign  of  a  pure  and  upright  soul :  it  is  the  condition  of 
wisdom,  as  well  as  of  music.  The  philosopher  is  a  musician 
(6  cro</>os  /aovo-tKo?).  The  life  of  man  needs  number  and  har- 
mony. The  principle  of  perfection  may,  then,  be  resolved 
into  the  principle  of  accord,  of  harmony.  Instead  of  tra- 
cing the  beautiful  to  the  good,  as  is  generally  done,  it  seems 
that  it  would  be  possible  to  trace  the  good  to  the  beautiful.1 

The  German  moralist  Garve2  dissented  from  the   above 

1  This  is  one  of  the  opinions  held  by  the  German  philosopher  Herbart,  who 
regards  moral  philosophy  as  a  part  of  aesthetics.  M.  Ravaisson,  in  his  Rapport 
8UT  la  Philosophie  da  XIX*  Steele,  seems  to  favor  this  idea.  See,  later  (chap, 
vi.),  how  far  I  agree  with,  or  dissent  from,  this  point  of  view. 

2  Garve  was  a  German  philosopher  of  the  eighteenth  century,  who  had  a 
great  deal  of  good  sense  and  sagacity.    His  Versuche  uber  verschiedene  Gegen- 


58  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

definition  of  perfection  —  that  is,  "  the  reduction  of  plurality 
to  unity  "  —  a  definition  received  in  the  school  of  Wolf.1  He 
regards  this  as  an  insufficient  criterion.  "  For  in  what  con- 
dition of  man  is  not  the  whole  brought  into  a  certain  unity? 
Even  in  the  absolutely  vicious  man  every  thing  agrees,  in 
order  to  make  of  him  a  perfectly  vicious  being."  Thus,  in 
the  egotist,  every  thing  arises  from  the  unity  of  his  self-love ; 
and  in  the  voluptuous  man  every  thing  arises  from  the  unity 
of  his  voluptuousness.  It  is  therefore  necessary  to  explain 
why  it  is  that  in  man  the  sensitive  should  lead  him  to  the 
rational,  and  not  the  rational  to  the  sensitive,  —  in  saying 
which  you  assume  that  reason  is  of  an  order  superior  to  that 
of  the  senses,  and  leave  the  idea  of  perfection  or  excellence  as 
vague  as  it  was  before.2  But  it  is  not  true  that  the  egotist, 
the  avaricious  man,  or,  to  speak  in  general  terms,  any  of 
those  who  abandon  themselves  to  the  sway  of  one  passion, 
can  claim  to  possess  true  unity.  One  point  in  the  circumfer- 
ence is  not  the  unity  of  the  circle  :  this  unity  is  at  the  centre. 
In  the  same  way,  the  true  unity  of  human  nature  is  at  the 
centre ;  that  is  to  say,  at  the  point  from  which  all  the  human 
faculties  radiate,  and  to  which  all  are  co-ordinated.  He  who 
gives  himself  up  to  all  his  passions  scatters  himself  over  an 

stande  aus  der  Moral,  der  Litteratur  und  dem  geselligen  Leben  deserves  to  be  read 
even  now. 

1  Leibnitz  himself  defines  perfection,  Identitas  in  varietate.  (See  his  corre- 
spondence with  Wolf.)  He  said,  again,  that  perfection  is  "  a  degree  of  positive 
reality,  or,  what  is  practically  the  same  thing,  of  affirmative  intelligibility 
(intelligibilitatis  affirmativce),  of  such  a  nature  that  that  is  the  most  perfect  in 
which  are  manifest  the  greatest  number  of  things  which  are  worthy  of  notice." 
Wolf  objected,  "Are  there  any  more  things  to  be  seen  in  a  healthy  body  thar 
in  a  diseased  one  ?  "  —  "Yes,"  replied  Leibnitz:  "if  every  one  were  sick,  many 
beautiful  observations  would  come  to  an  end;  that  is,  all  which  relate  to  the 
natural  course  of  things.  .  .  .  The  more  order  there  is,  the  more  matter  for 
observation  there  is.  .  .  .  If  there  were  no  rules,  every  thing  would  be  pure 
chaos.  Hence  it  may  be  said,  that  the  perfect  thing  is  that  which  is  most 
regular  (quod  magis  est  regulare).  ...  It  is  the  multitude  of  regularities  which 
produces  variety.  Thus  uniformity  and  diversity  agree."  Leibnitz  concludes 
with  these  words :/'  Thus  the  perfection  of  an  object  is  greater  in  proportion 
as  it  contains  a  more  perfect  accord  between  a  greater  variety." 

2  Uebersicht  der  Principien  der  Sittenlehre,  c.  viii. 


THE   PRINCIPLE   OF  EXCELLENCE,   OR  OF  PERFECTION.        59 

infinite  number  of  objects :  he  who  gives  himself  up  to  one 
does  indeed  concentrate  himself,  but  he  concentrates  himself 
outside  of  himself ;  that  is,  outside  of  his  centre,  on  one  of 
the  points  of  his  circumference.  Even  the  egotist  does  not, 
as  it  is  claimed,  concentrate  himself  upon  himself;  for  in 
himself  he  would  find  something  other  than  himself :  he  con- 
centrates himself  upon  that  secondary  and  subordinate  self 
which  is  composed  of  the  sensations,  and  he  ignores  that  in- 
terior and  profound  self  in  which  the  affections  and  ideas 
reside. 

The  preceding  analyses  give  us,  then,  a  double  idea  of 
perfection :  First,  the  idea  of  an  activity,  more  or  less  intense, 
whose  excellence  is  in  proportion  to  its  intensity :  Second,  the 
idea  of  harmony,  or  of  the  agreement  of  the  elements  or 
parts  of  which  the  being  is  composed,  or  of  unity  in  plural- 
ity. Combining  these  two  ideas,  we  should  say  that  the  good 
of  a  being  consists  in  the  harmonious  development  of  its 
faculties.  Imagine  a  being  which  should  develop  within  it- 
self only  certain  inferior  faculties;  in  establishing  such  a 
degree  of  order  among  them  that  they  would  not  mutually 
destroy  each  other,  he  would  attain  a  certain  good,  but  it 
would  be  an  inferior  one  :  such  is  common  prudence.  Sup- 
pose that  one  should  develop  to  their  highest  extent  some  of 
his  most  noble  faculties,  but  not  bring  them  into  harmony 
with  others:  he  would  attain  a  good  of  a  superior  order; 
but,  by  the  mutilation  of  his  being,  this  good  would  fre- 
quently be  transformed  into  evil ;  this  is  the  case  with  athe- 
ists, with  enthusiasts  and  fanatics.  Suppose  that  one  should 
develop  all  his  superior  faculties,  while  utterly  sacrificing 
the  inferior :  one  would  thus  attain  a  good  which  would  be 
the  true,  essential  good  —  good  in  itself.  But  as  this  would 
be  done  outside  of  the  real  and  concrete  conditions  of  human 
nature,  either  it  could  not  long  be  maintained,  or  the  man 
would  destroy  himself,  which  is  directly  contrary  to  the  idea 
of  good.  We  must,  then,  take  into  account  both  the  principle 
which  commands  us  to  develop  within  ourselves,  so  far  as 


60  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

possible,  the  forces  at  our  disposal,  and  also  of  that  which 
requires  us  to  establish  among  them  a  harmony  and  an  equi- 
librium without  which  their  activity  would  be  sterile  or  de- 
structive, and  would  consequently  annihilate  itself. 

Perhaps  this  analysis  will  be  considered  extremely  ab- 
stract, and  an  effort  will  be  made  to  trace  the  conception  of 
perfection  to  some  more  concrete  and  comprehensible  idea, 
saying,  for  example,  Perfection  is  mind;  that  is,  what  is 
spiritual,  either  in  man  or  in  nature  —  perfection  is  will, 
and  it  is  the  highest  degree  of  will;  that  is,  liberty  —  per- 
fection is  generosity ;  that  is,  prodigality  and  disinterested- 
ness, and  other  similar  definitions.  But  in  this  way  two 
different  questions  are  confounded:  on  one  hand,  What 
being  is  perfect?  on  the  other,  What  is  it  to  be  perfect? 
I  grant  that  the  most  perfect  of  things  are  mind,  liberty, 
generosity.  But  in  what  does  the  perfection  of  these  differ- 
ent objects  consist,  and  why  are  they -more  perfect  than 
their  opposites?  Why  is  mind  worth  more  than  matter, 
will  than  fatality,  generosity  than  egotism  ?  To  this  ques- 
tion only  two  answers  can  be  given:  either  we  perceive 
intuitively  and  by  a  special  sense  the  quality  of  things,  and 
we  have  a  right  to  affirm  without  proof  that  one  object  is 
worth  more  than  another,  in  which  case  the  perfection  of 
mind  or  of  liberty,  or  of  generosity,  would  be  a  simple  and 
indefinable  quality,  which  could  not  be  traced  back  to  any 
other ;  or,  if  this  simple  quality  is  not  satisfactory,  it  would 
be  necessary  to  resolve  the  conception  of  perfection  into  two 
elements,  as  I  have  done  —  the  intensity  of  the  being,  and 
the  co-ordination  of  its  powers.  Why  is  it,  indeed,  that  the 
mind  appears  to  us  to  be  the  most  perfect  thing  in  existence  ? 
It  is  because  we  suppose  it  gifted  with  a  spontaneous  ac- 
tivity which  matter  does  not  possess,  and  because  we  place 
within  it  the  reason  for  the  order  which  matter  displays. 
Why  do  will  and  liberty  appear  to  us  the  best  of  all  things  ? 
Because  there  is  no  higher  degree  of  power  than  that  of 
being  able  to  move  one's  self;  yet  it  is  essential  that  this 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.        61 

movement  should  be  made  in  a  certain  direction,  in  a  cer- 
tain order.  Finally,  generosity  itself  is  also  a  kind  of 
power,  for  it  presupposes  abundance  and  expansion ;  but 
if  it  is  exercised  by  chance,  and  without  consideration,  it  is 
of  no  more  value  than  its  opposite.  Thus  these  various 
definitions  will  at  last  all  return  to  the  most  abstract  charac- 
teristics which  I  have  noticed. 

It  would  also  be  a  misapprehension  of  the  conception  of 
perfection,  if  there  should  be  seen  in  it  only  an  ideal  and 
absolute  type  toward  which  we  ought  to  tend,  but  which, 
precisely  because  it  is  absolute,  seems  beyond  our  reach,  and 
inaccessible  to  our  efforts.  If  perfection  is  thus  understood, 
one  may  well  ask  in  what  it  consists,  and  what  is  the  sub- 
stance of  this  idea.  This  is  the  defect  in  that  celebrated 
principle  —  true,  nevertheless,  in  a  certain  point  of  view, 
but  too  indefinite  —  of  the  imitation  of  God,  or  conformity 
to  God.  I  ought  to  imitate  God,  you  tell  me ;  but  what  is 
God  ?  what  are  his  attributes  ?  what  are  his  acts  ?  How 
can  I  imitate  God  in  the  temporal  actions  which  are  the  con- 
dition of  my  life?  How  can  a  merchant  imitate  God  in 
buying  or  selling?  How  can  a  soldier  imitate  God  while 
bravely  killing  his  enemies?  The  only  possible  way  in 
which  man  can  imitate  God  is  by  cultivating,  developing, 
and  making  the  most  of  the  faculties  which  God  has  given 
him.  These  faculties  have  a  proper  and  essential  perfection ; 
and,  taken  all  together  in  their  order  of  excellence,  they  con- 
stitute human  perfection.  This  is  the  only  one  which  is 
within  our  reach :  this  is  what  we  can  develop.  Doubtless, 
as  we  shall  soon  see,1  we  cannot  attribute  to  ourselves  in  our 
thoughts  any  perfection  without  having  the  idea  of  an  abso- 
lute perfection.  But  we  do  not  begin  with  this  absolute  per- 
fection, and  from  it  lay  hold  of  and  comprehend  the  human : 
on  the  contrary,  we  begin  with  the  latter,  and  from  it  rise 
to  the  former. 

Hence  it  is  not  perfection  in  general  which  is  the  good  for 
i  See  farther  on,  chap,  vi* 


62  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

which  we  are  to  seek :  it  is  our  own  perfection  —  that  is,  the 
perfection,  not  of  the  individual,  but  of  the  man;  it  is 
human  perfection,  the  perfection  of  our  faculties,  which,  not 
being  limited  by  its  essence,  can  always  be  carried  on  far- 
ther, so  that  at  the  end  of  this  progress  we  may  conceive  an 
ideal  man  (the  wise  man  of  the  Stoics),  who  shall  be  at  once 
a  man  and  yet  perfect :  a  contradictory  notion,  if  you  will, 
but  one  which  we  may  accept  as  the  symbol  and  the  formula 
of  that  which  ought  to  be,  although  it  never  can  be. 

Thus  Aristotle  was  right  when  he  uttered  that  profound 
saying,  that  the  good  of  a  being  should  be  sought,  not  in  a 
universal  and  absolute  essence,  strange  to  him,  and  in  no 
relation  to  him,  which  does  not  at  all  concern  us,  but  in  the 
act  proper  to  human  nature  (oi/cetov  Zpyov). 

"How  would  it  help  a  carpenter  in  the  exercise  of  his 
trade,"  he  says  acutely,  "to  contemplate  abstract  good?" 
So,  too,  human  good  or  the  good  of  man  should  be  a  good 
which  is  definite  and  suitable  for  man ;  for  no  being  can  be 
required  to  seek  for  a  good  which  is  not  adapted  to  his  nature. 
Plato  himself  had  already  admitted  that  the  virtue  of  a  being 
consists  in  doing  well  what  is  suitable  for  it :  the  virtue  of 
the  horse  is  in  running  well,  that  of  the  eye  in  seeing  well. 
Aristotle,  examining  this  principle,  saw,  that  to  determine 
what  forms  the  good  of  a  being,  it  is  necessary,  first,  to  deter- 
mine the  activity  proper  to  it;  that  is,  its  essence.  For  that 
which  is  good  for  one  animal  would  not  be  so  for  another  : 
that  which  would  be  good  for  animals  in  general  would  not 
be  so  for  man.  Thus,  as  Spinoza  says,  we  admire  in  animals 
what  we  condemn  in  men,  as,  for  example,  the  combats  of  ants. 
When  the  relative  excellence  of  different  classes  of  beings  is 
compared,  it  is  undoubtedly  measured  by  their  degree  of 
activity  and  harmony ;  but  when  we  seek  to  find  the  true 
and  absolute  excellence  of  each  class  of  beings,  this  is 
measured  by  their  suitable  and  essential  activity.  What, 
then,  is  the  activity  suitable  to  man  ?  Is  it  life  ?  No  :  this 
lie  has  in  common  with  the  plant  and  the  animal.     Is  it 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.        63 

feeling  ?  No ;  for  this  also  he  has  in  common  with  the 
animal.  "  It  follows,"  says  Aristotle,  "  that  it  must  be  the 
active  life  of  a  being  endowed  with  reason,  or  a  reasonable 
activity." 

To  the  same  principle  must  be  imputed  the  doctrine  of 
Spinoza,  that  the  good  of  man  consists  in  the  development 
of  adequate  ideas.  In  fact,  adequate  or  general  ideas,  are 
the  ideas  by  which  the  soul  comprehends  itself  in  uniting 
itself  to  its  true  cause,  which  is  God.  In  giving  itself  up  to 
inadequate  ideas,  that  is,  to  those  of  nature  and  the  senses, 
the  soul  turns  away  from  its  true  essence ;  it  comprehends 
itself  less  and  less ;  it  loses  itself  in  that  which  is  not  itself. 
What  is  this  self,  properly  speaking?  An  idea  of  God's.  Then, 
the  nearer  it  approaches  God,  the  better  it  will  understand 
itself:  now  it  is  by  general  ideas  that  it  approaches  God, 
and,  consequently,  that  it  possesses  itself;  and  it  is  in  this 
sense  that  the  imitation  of  God  makes  a  part  of  the  action 
which  is  proper  to  us,  and  may  become  a  rule  of  action. 

From  the  same  principle  is  derived  the  formula  of  Kant 
and  of  Fichte,  which  makes  respect  for  and  development  of 
the  human  personality  the  fundamental  principle  of  morals. 
If  we  say  with  Aristotle,  that  the  essence  of  man  is  reason- 
able activity,  is  not  this  the  same  as  saying  that  it  is  person- 
ality ?  For  what  is  activity  united  with  reason  ?  A  being 
who  acts  or  can  act  according  to  reason  is  a  free  being:  he  is 
a  person.  From  this  it  follows  that  the  true  essence,  and 
therefore  the  true  end,  of  man,  is  personality ;  and  that  the 
highest  degree  of  excellence  which  man  can  attain  is  at  the 
same  time  the  highest  degree  of  personality.  Hence  comes 
the  strange  and  energetic  language  of  Fichte's  philosophy : 
"  Assert  self  as  itself,  setting  aside  every  thing  that  is  not 
its  true  self;"  that  is  to  say,  assert  one's  proper  self,  free 
one's  self  from  nature,  and  subordinate  nature  to  the  Ego. 
Hence  also  that  principle  of  Fichte's,  that  the  object  of  moral 
philosophy  is  to  insure  us  the  greatest  independence,  the  most 
entire  personal  liberty ;  not  that  this  maxim  is  to  be  under- 


64  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

stood  as  meaning  a  liberation  from  all  restraint,  bnt,  on  the 
contrary,  as  a  deliverance  from  all  passion. 

Rightly  occupied  with  combating  the  doctrine  of  personal 
interest,  modern  philosophers  have  too  often  forgotten  that 
good  in  general  cannot  be  an  end  for  us  except  on  condition 
of  being  our  good ;  for  it  is  inadmissible  that  a  being  should 
be  held  to  any  thing  for  the  sake  of  a  good  which  would  be 
wholly  foreign  to  him.  For  example,  is  it  the  duty  of  an 
animal  to  seek  the  good  of  human  society  ?  What  does  it 
matter  to  the  horse  whether  humanity  is,  or  is  not,  happy  ? 
Or  can  we  imagine,  for  example,  that  it  could  be  our  duty 
to  strive  to  give  happiness  to  angels,  except  in  so  far  as  we 
suppose  that  angels  and  men  form  a  common  society,  and 
have  consequently  a  common  good  ?  This  is  why  I  owe  my 
service  to  the  good  of  humanity  —  because  the  good  of  other 
men  is  my  own  good :  it  is  because  what  is  good  for  the  hive 
is  good  for  the  bee.  For  this  reason  one  may  also  say  with 
St.  Augustine  and  all  Christians,  that  the  highest  good  is  God 
himself;  because,  as  we  shall  see,  the  human  soul  being  made 
to  lift  itself  to  the  infinite  and  the  perfect,  absolute  good, 
good  in  itself,  is  at  the  same  time  its  own  good.  Thus 
Aristotle,  after  having  disputed  Plato's  theory  that  the  idea 
of  good  is  the  good  in  itself,  because,  according  to  him,  good 
is  an  act  proper  to  the  soul,  returns  in  a  roundabout  way  to 
the  theory  which  he  has  opposed,  making  paramount  good 
to  consist  in  the  most  elevated  action  of  the  soul,  that  is,  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  divine ;  and  to  those  who  criticised 
him  he  replied,  "It  is  suitable  that  mortals  should  partici- 
pate, so  far  as  they  can  do  so,  in  immortal  things."  Thus 
by  the  doctrine  of  a  proper  and  essential  perfection,  that  is 
to  say,  of  a  human  good,  man  is  not  limited  to  himself.  It 
separates  him,  as  we  have  seen,  neither  from  other  men,  nor 
from  nature,  nor  from  God;  for  it  is  the  very  essence  of 
man  that  he  should  be  united  with  God,  with  nature,  and 
humanity. 

The  preceding  considerations  are,  I  think,  an  answer  to 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION        65 

the  objections  which  Kant  thought  he  saw  to  the  conception 
of  perfection.  He  combated  this  principle  on  the  ground 
that  perfection  is  an  object  exterior  to  ourselves,  and,  as  he 
said,  a  heteronomous  principle.  But,  according  to  what  has 
been  said,  the  good  of  a  being  does  not  consist  in  perfection 
in  general,  but  in  its  own  perfection.  The  perfection  which 
should  be  the  ideal  model  for  man  is  not,  then,  something 
which  is  entirely  foreign  to  him :  it  is  his  own  essence.1 

The  principle  of  proper  and  essential  perfection  (owcctov 
Ipyov)  gives  us  also  a  rule  by  which  we  may  estimate  the 
value  of  the  different  goods  which  present  themselves  for 
man's  choice,  and  forces  us  to  distinguish  relative  and  pro- 
visionary  goods  from  those  which  are  absolute,  apparent 
goods  from  those  which  are  real.  Of  the  three  kinds  of 
goods  recognized  by  the  ancients  —  exterior  goods,  goods  of 
the  body,  and  goods  of  the  soul  —  the  first  are  worthless,  save 
as  means  for  procuring  the  second ;  and  these  are  worthless, 
save  as  auxiliaries  to  the  goods  of  the  soul ;  so  that,  prop- 
erly speaking,  the  last  alone  deserve  the  name  of  goods, 
since  they  alone  are  sought  for  their  own  sakes ;  while  the 
others  are  sought  only  for  the  sake  of  the  last.  Exterior 
things  have,  in  truth,  no  absolute  and  proper  perfection,  and 
have  merely  a  relative  value,  that  which  they  derive  from 
their  adaptation  to  our  needs.  From  a  purely  physical  point 
of  view,  gold  has  no  intrinsic  perfection  superior  to  that  of 
leather ;  and,  in  a  desert,  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  pur- 
chase the  title  to  a  whole  country  would  be  worth  very  much 
less  than  a  glass  of  water.  The  miser  himself  does  not  love 
his  gold  for  its  own  sake,  but  for  the  pleasure  which  he  finds 
in  it.     Again,  what  use  would  exterior  things  be  to  one 

1  It  cannot  be  claimed  that  this  is  a  utilitarian  principle,  since  here  the 
species,  not  the  individual,  is  in  question.  Being  born  a  man,  I  ought  to  try 
to  be  a  man  so  far  as  is  possible:  to  do  this,  I  must  often  struggle  within  myself 
with  all  which  is  of  exclusively  individual  interest.  Again,  the  individual 
himself  has  a  distinctive  essence  which  he  should  respect.  An  ordinary  man 
may  be  permitted  to  do  some  things  which  a  Cato  ought  not  to  allow  himself 
to  do,  because  he  is  Cato. 


66  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

whose  health  would  not  permit  him  to  enjoy  them  ?  I  may- 
say  the  same  of  the  goods  of  the  body  :  their  value  consists 
only  in  the  pleasure  which  they  give  us ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
that  which  already  belongs  to  the  soul.  It  is  not  the  body 
itself  which  interests  us,  but  its  sensations.  Would  any  one 
be  greatly  delighted  by  the  thought  that  after  death  his  body 
would  be  embalmed,  and  preserved  indefinitely?  Is  it  not 
clear  that  this  prospect  would  interest  us  as  little  as  if  the 
body  of  some  other  man  were  concerned?  Consciousness 
having  disappeared,  my  body  is  no  longer  my  body;  that 
which  interests  me,  then,  is  not  my  body,  but  my  conscious 
and  sentient  body ;  but  consciousness  and  sensation  belong 
to  the  soul.  Thus  all  comes  back  to  the  goods  of  the  soul. 
Finally,  the  goods  of  the  senses  are  worthless,  save  as  the 
condition  of  intellectual  goods  and  those  of  the  heart;  for 
these  alone  are  the  goods  proper  to  man,  and  belonging  to 
his  essence,  the  others  being  held  by  him  in  common  with 
animals.  Hence,  he  who  wishes  to  be  a  man,  and  not  an 
animal,  should  prefer  the  second  to  the  first. 

We  can  now  understand  why  the  Stoics  regarded  exterior 
goods  and  those  of  the  body  as  indifferent.  These  goods  are 
never  any  thing  but  means,  and  should  not  be  regarded  as 
ends.  They  are  only  relative  goods,  not  absolute  ones.  They 
cannot  be  sought  for  their  own  sake,  but  only  for  that  of  the 
soul,  to  whose  functions  they  are  indispensable.  From  this 
fact  they  undoubtedly  acquire  a  real  value,  but  it  is  one 
which  is  subordinate  and  provisionary.  True  goods  are 
those  which  are  essential  to  our  being,  which  cannot  forsake 
us  when  once  we  have  acquired  them :  they  are  the  interior 
goods,  which  are  not  at  the  mercy  of  circumstances  and  acci- 
dents. It  is  this  natural  and  essential  good  of  the  soul 
which,  when  sought  and  realized  by  the  will,  becomes  moral 
good :  "  Bonum  mentis  naturale"  says  Leibnitz,  "  quum  est 
voluntarium,  jit  bonum  morale" 1 

The  principle  of  human  personality,  the  basis  of  Kant's 

1  Leibnitz,  Correspondence  with  Wolf. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  EXCELLENCE,  OR  OF  PERFECTION.        67 

philosophy,  has  in  it  nothing  which  conflicts  with  the  princi- 
ple of  perfection,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  presupposes  this ; 
for,  as  man  is  an  animal  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  a  person, 
there  seems  to  be  no  reason  why  he  should  be  required  to 
prefer  the  personality  to  the  animalism,  unless  it  is  because 
the  personality  is  the  best,  the  most  excellent,  the  most  per- 
fect, thing  within  him.  Does  not  Kant  himself  admit  this 
when  he  attributes  to  the  human  personality  an  intrinsic 
worth,  an  absolute  value ;  when  he  demands  that  this  per- 
sonality shall  never  be  either  humiliated  or  sacrificed?  Can- 
not every  one  see  that  these  expressions,  worth,  value,  which 
he  is  constantly  using,  are  exactly  equivalent  to  those  of  per- 
fection, and  excellence,  which  are  employed  by  the  school  of 
Wolf?  If  the  moral  personality  had  not  an  excellence  supe- 
rior to  that  of  the  desires  and  the  appetites,  why  should  the 
latter  be  sacrificed  to  it  ?  Thus,  whether  consciously  or  un- 
consciously, the  moralists  always  have  before  their  eyes  the 
conception  of  perfection.  What,  indeed,  would  be  the  aim 
of  morals  if  not  to  make  us  more  perfect  ? 

Finally,  many  attempts  have  been  made  to  reduce  perfec- 
tion, and  thus  good  itself,  to  the  idea  of  the  end  or  the  aim. 
"  Good,"  says  Aristotle,  "  is  the  final  cause  (jo  ov  «Wa) :  it 
is  what  all  desire  (ov  iravra  c^tVrat)."  A  philosopher  of  our 
own  day,  Theodore  JoufTroy,  makes  good  consist  in  the  co- 
ordination of  all  ends.  Undoubtedly  good  and  perfection 
are  ends  for  man.  But,  strictly  speaking,  it  would  be  more 
exact  to  define  the  end  as  being  the  good,  than  the  good  as 
being  the  end.  It  is  because  there  exists  some  object  which 
is  better,  more  excellent,  more  perfect,  than  those  which  we 
now  actually  enjoy,  that  we  tend  toward  that  object  as  toward 
an  end.  It  is,  then,  the  intrinsic  perfection  of  the  object 
which  is  the  reason  for  its  existence,  or  the  basis  of  the  ulti- 
mate cause.  If  this  essential  perfection  is  reduced  to  an  ab- 
straction, then  nothing  remains  for  an  aim  and  an  object  of 
pursuit  but  pleasure.  Will  you  say,  to  escape  from  this  con- 
clusion, that  the  end  of  our  actions  is  that  which  has  been 


68  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

fixed  by  the  Author  of  things?  It  must,  then,  be  asked 
whether  this  end  was  fixed  arbitrarily,  in  which  case  we  fall 
into  the  doctrine  of  absolute  decrees  ;  or  whether,  on  the  con- 
trary, this  end  fixed  by  God  was  already  good  in  itself,  in 
which  case  there  would  be  a  goodness  and  excellence  anterior 
to  the  idea  of  the  end,  and  existing  by  itself.  Finally,  if  the 
end  or  the  aim  of  a  being  is  defined  as  being  that  which  re- 
sults from  the  very  nature  of  that  being,  what  are  we  to  un- 
derstand by  nature?  In  man,  for  instance,  passions  and 
disorderly  pleasures  make  a  part  of  his  nature ;  and,  in  gen- 
eral, every  thing  which  is,  is  in  conformity  with  nature,  other- 
wise it  would  not  exist.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  are  to 
understand  by  nature,  as  the .  Stoics  do,  the  most  excellent 
part  of  our  being,  we  shall  then  see  that  it  is  this  very 
excellence  which  is  an  end  and  an  object  for  us.  Thus  we 
must  always  return  to  the  supposition,  that,  in  the  diverse 
ends  of  our  actions,  there  exist  some  intrinsic  reasons  for 
choice  and  preference  —  reasons  which  constitute  the  perfec- 
tion and  the  excellence  of  the  things,  and  consequently  con- 
stitute good.  This  is  the  good  which  we  call  natural  so  far 
as  it  results  from  nature,  and  moral  so  far  as  it  results  from 
the  will 


^t  LIB 

V  OF   THE 

JFIVERSITY 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS. 

1\  /TODERN  philosophers,  in  proving  that  pleasure  is  not 
-L*J-  the  good,  imagine  that  they  have  solved  all  the  diffi- 
culties in  their  path ;  but  it  may  be  said  that  they  have  con- 
sidered only  one  side  of  the  subject,  and  that,  from  this  point 
of  view,  the  ancients  saw  farther  than  they :  for,  after  proving 
that  pleasure  is  not  the  good,  there  still  remains  the  question 
whether  pleasure  is  not  a  good,  and  even  whether  it  may 
not  be  an  essential  part  of  the  good.  This  is  the  opinion 
held  by  Plato  and  Aristotle.  Each  of  them  has  proved,  as 
clearly  as  we  have  done,  that  pleasure  in  general  is  not  the 
good ;  for,  were  it  so,  all  pleasures  would  be  good,  and  all 
would  be  equally  desirable,  which  is  not  the  case.  But, 
while  there  are  evil  and  impure  pleasures,  there  are  others 
which  are  good  and  excellent ;  and,  although  we  cannot  say 
of  pleasure  that  it  is  the  good,  it  does  not  follow  that  good 
can  be  separated  from  pleasure.  Thus  in  the  Philebus,  Plato, 
while  refuting  the  voluptuous  philosophy  of  the  sophists,  de- 
clares that  the  idea  of  good  is  composed  of  two  inseparable 
elements  —  wisdom  and  pleasure.  "  Perhaps  it  is  different  in 
the  life  of  the  gods,"  he  says ;  "  but  as  to  human  life,  it  can- 
not be  entirely  deprived  of  pleasure."  Thus,  while  subordi- 
nating pleasure  to  wisdom,  Plato  makes  the  idea  of  it  enter 
into  that  of  the  supreme  good:  only  he  makes  a  choice 
among  pleasures,  and  admits  only  those  which  are  pure,  sim- 
ple, noble,  and  elevated.  Aristotle  is  still  more  explicit. 
Plato,  indeed,  introduces  pleasure  into  good  only  from  ne- 
cessity, and  rather   regretfully:   by  his   general  theory  of 


70  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

pleasure  he  would  rather  have  been  inclined  to  exclude  it 
absolutely  from  a  wise  and  happy  life.  Aristotle,  on  the  con- 
trary, regards  pleasure  as  being  essentially  a  good,  because 
it  is  connected  with  the  development  of  our  being,  and  is 
the  actual  consequence  of  action. 

"  Pleasure  [he  says]  finishes  and  completes  the  action.  ...  It  is  an 
end  which  joins  itself  with  the  other  qualities  as  bloom  is  joined  with 
youth.  —  Why  is  not  pleasure  continual  ?  Because  none  of  the  human 
faculties*  are  capable  of  continual  action :  now  pleasure  has  not  this 
power  any  more  than  the  others,  for  it  is  only  the  consequence  of  action. 
It  is  probable,  that,  if  all  men  love  pleasure,  it  is  because  all  love  life 
also ;  for  life  is  a  sort  of  act."  x 

Thus  pleasure  is  a  result  inseparable  from  the  action  of 
our  faculties.  From  this  principle  Aristotle  draws  two  im- 
portant conclusions  —  first,  that  pleasures  are  specifically 
different ;  second,  that  pleasures  are  mutually  related  in  the 
same  way  with  acts ;  it  is  the  act  which  measures  the  pleasure, 
not  the  pleasure  which  measures  the  act. 

1.  Pleasures  differ  in  kind,  and  not  merely  in  degree, 

"  Acts  which  are  specifically  different  [he  says]  cannot  but  be  accom- 
panied by  pleasures  which  differ  in  kind.  Thus  the  acts  of  thought  dif- 
fer from  the  acts  of  the  senses,  and  the  latter  also  differ  from  each 
other:  hence  pleasures  should  also  differ.  .  .  .  For  each  different  act, 
there  is  a  corresponding  suitable  pleasure :  the  pleasure  which  belongs 
to  a  virtuous  action  is  an  honorable  pleasure ;  that  which  belongs  to  an 
evil  action  is  a  guilty  pleasure.  .  .  .It  seems  even  as  though  each  ani- 
mal had  a  pleasure  which  belongs  to  no  other,  just  as  he  has  a  special 
kind  of  action.  The  pleasure  of  a  dog  is  entirely  different  from  that  of 
a  horse  or  of  a  man." 

2.  Aristotle  is  not  satisfied  with  merely  establishing  the 
fact  of  the  specific  nature  of  pleasure.  He  also  estimates 
its  quality  and  worth  by  the  quality  of  the  acts  themselves. 

"  The  best  act  [he  says]  is  that  of  the  being  who  is  the  best  disposed 
toward  the  most  perfect  object.     And  this  act  is  not  simply  the  most 

1  Ethic.  Nic,  1.  x.,  c.  iv.,  v.  In  regard  to  the  theory  of  pleasure,  consult 
the  interesting  work  by  M.  Fr.  Bouillier,  Du  Plaisir  et  de  la  Douleur.  Paris, 
1865. 


THE   PRINCIPLE   OF  HAPPINESS.  71 

complete,  it  is  also  the  most  agreeable.  .  .  .  The  true  and  genuine 
quality  of  things  is  that  which  the  well-endowed  man  finds  within  them : 
virtue  is  the  true  measure  for  all  things.  The  man  who  is  good,  so  far 
as  he  is  so,  is  the  sole  judge :  true  pleasures  are  those  which  he  regards 
as  such.  .  .  .  The  pleasures  of  the  degraded  are  not  pleasures." 

Kant  saw  fit  to  contest  the  principle  of  a  specific  differ- 
ence between  pleasures.  He  declares  that  there  are  not  two 
kinds  of  sensibility,  one  of  which  is  superior,  the  other  infe- 
rior: both  have  the  same  origin,  which  is  the  vital  sense. 
All  pleasures  are  identical  in  essence,  whatever  may  be  their 
source ;  and  the  enjoyment  of  a  good  dinner  has  in  it  nothing 
intrinsically  different  from  that  of  fine  music,  or  of  a  good 
action  performed  through  sympathy,  and  not  from  a  sense  of 
duty.  Kant,  indeed,  admits  that  some  pleasures  are  more 
refined  than  others ;  but  he  regards  this  as  being  simply  a 
difference  of  degree,  and,  moreover,  as  merely  a  matter  of 
taste,  not  affecting  the  moral  sense.  The  only  argument 
which  he  gives  in  defence  of  this  theory  is,  that  there  must 
be  a  standard  of  measurement  common  to  the  most  widely 
differing  pleasures.  For  example,  if  one  refuses  to  give 
money  to  a  poor  person  whom  he  is  in  the  habit  of  assisting, 
so  that  he  may  save  it  to  pay  for  seeing  some  show,  he  must 
have  compared  these  two  pleasures  with  each  other,  and 
have  given  the  preference  to  that  which  seemed  to  him  the 
greater.  But  I  do  not  see  what  conclusion  can  be  drawn 
from  this  example.  For,  if  we  sacrifice  duty  to  pleasure,  we 
also  compare  these  with  each  other ;  and,  according  to  the 
reasoning  above,  we  should  conclude  that  the  two  are  of  the 
same  nature.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  say,  in  agreement  with 
Kant's  theory,  that  the  conflict  between  duty  and  pleasure 
and  the  preference  of  one  to  the  other  is  no  indication  of  a 
common  essence,  I  do  not  see  why  the  conflict  between  the 
two  feelings,  one  superior,  the  other  inferior,  and  the  prefer- 
ence of  one  to  the  other,  should  destroy  the  fundamental 
difference  which  separates  them.  Moreover,  even  if  we 
grant  that  the  faculty  of  enjoyment  or  of  suffering,  in  so  far 


72  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

as  it  is  the  faculty  of  enjoyment  or  of  suffering,  is  essentially 
the  same  under  all  its  manifestations,  it  would  not  follow 
that  it  might  not  receive  different  characters  from  its  union 
with  our  other  faculties ;  for  example,  if  reason,  or  the  fac- 
ulty of  thinking,  is  superior  to  nutrition,  I  do  not  see  why 
the  pleasure  belonging  to  one  should  not  be  regarded  as 
superior  to  that  which  accompanies  the  other.  To  say  that 
one  should  not  take  into  account  the  origin  of  pleasures  is 
an  entirely  arbitrary  thesis,  for  which  no  reason  is  given. 
Hence,  the  Aristotelian  theory  of  the  specific  character  of 
pleasures,  seems  to  me  to  be  superior  philosophically  to 
Kant's  theory  of  the  homogeneousness  of  pleasures.  The 
consequences  resulting  from  one  theory  or  the  other  are  of 
the  very  greatest  importance. 

If  pleasure  always  accompanies  action,  if  each  function  has 
its  own  peculiar  pleasure,  it  follows  plainly  that  every  devel- 
opment of  our  activity,  consequently  every  development  of 
perfection  in  man,  is  accompanied  by  pleasure,  whether  we 
wish  it  or  not.  Nature,  not  troubling  herself  to  inquire 
whether  it  will  suit  abstract  philosophies,  has  decreed  that 
each  of  our  faculties,  the  highest  as  well  as  the  lowest,  shall 
have  its  own  peculiar  pleasure  by  the  very  fact  of  being 
exercised.  Hence  the  perfection  of  being  cannot  be  acquired 
without  gaining  also  the  feeling  of  this  perfection,  the  joy  of 
possessing  it.  Now,  this  feeling,  this  joy,  is  what  we  should 
call  happiness,  inseparable,  as  we  have  seen,  from  perfection 
itself.1  Good,  then,  is  indissolubly  composed  of  perfection 
and  of  happiness. 

Kant,  instead  of  uniting  these  two  ideas,  has,  on  the  con- 
trary, separated  them,  and  set  them  in  mutual  opposition.  In 
his  Philosophy  of  Virtue,  he  ascribes  to  virtue  two  distinct 
and  irreducible  objects  —  the  perfection  of  one's  self  and  the 
happiness  of  others. 

i  Leibnitz,  Nouveaux  Essais,  1,  ii.,  c.  xxi.  "  Pleasure  is  the  feeling  of  per- 
fection." ..."  Happiness  is  a  durable  pleasure." 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS.  73 

"  We  must  not  [he  says]  interchange  these  two  terras,  and  propose  to 
ourselves  as  an  end  either  personal  happiness,  or  the  perfection  of  others. 
In  truth,  although  personal  happiness  is  an  end  which  all  men  pursue  by 
reason  of  their  natural  inclinations,  we  cannot  consider  this  end  as  a 
duty ;  for  duty  implies  a  constraint  to  something  not  voluntarily  done.  It 
is  equally  contradictory  to  take  for  an  end  the  perfection  of  another.  In 
fact,  the  perfection  of  another  consists  precisely  in  his  being  himself  ca- 
pable of  acting  conformably  to  his  idea  of  duty.  Now,  it  is  a  contradic- 
tion of  terms  to  say  that  I  may  do  in  regard  to  another  what  he  alone 
can  do."  * 

This  opposition  of  perfection  and  happiness  is  certainly- 
true  in  the  sense  in  which  Kant  here  expresses  it;  for  by- 
happiness  he  means  only  pleasure,  and  in  general,  the  satis- 
faction of  the  sensibility ;  and  by  moral  perfection  he  means 
virtue.  Now,  it  is  quite  right  to  say  that  the  end  of  my  ac- 
tions is  neither  my  own  pleasure,  nor  the  virtue  of  another. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  we  understand  by  happiness,  not  pleasure 
in  general,  but,  like  Aristotle,  Descartes,  and  Leibnitz,  regard 
it  as  the  feeling  of  our  own  perfection  and  excellence,  it  is 
clear  that  it  may  be  an  end  for  us.  For  why  should  it  not 
be  an  end  to  seek  our  own  perfection  ?  and  how,  if  we  have 
attained  it,  could  we  help  enjoying  it  ? 

Undoubtedly,  also,  we  cannot  desire  as  the  end  of  our  ac- 
tions the  virtue  of  another :  no  one  can  be  virtuous  save  for 
himself.  But  if  I  cannot  take  for  my  end  the  virtue  of  other 
men,  what  I  can  and  should  do  is,  to  furnish  them  an  oc- 
casion for  becoming  virtuous,  and  procure  for  them  the 
substance  of  virtue.  To  give  a  man  good  counsel,  a  good 
education,  a  good  example,  is  to  strive  for  his  perfection  by 
furnishing  him  with  the  conditions  of  virtue,  without  being 
virtuous  in  his  place :  and  even  to  alleviate  the  misery  of 
our  fellow-creatures,  to  comfort  them,  to  assist  them  with  our 
money  or  with  our  friendship,  is  also  to  assist  toward  their 
perfection  by  promoting  their  happiness;  for  the  means  of 
action  which  I  thus  put  into  their  hands  are  for  them  the  con- 
ditions of  the  development  of  their  faculties,  and  stimulants 

1  Kant,  Tugendlehre,  Introduction. 


74  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

to  this.  The  two  ideas  of  perfection  and  happiness,  far  from 
being,  as  Kant  considered  them,  in  mutual  opposition,  are, 
then,  really  but  one  and  the  same  idea,  considered  under  two 
different  aspects. 

In  modern  philosophy  the  doctrine  of  happiness  and  the 
doctrine  of  pleasure  are  generally  confounded,  and  it  is  sup- 
posed that  one  is  done  away  with  when  the  other  is  refuted. 
But,  if  this  were  true,  it  would  be  hard  to  see  why  the 
noblest  and  purest  schools  have  not  hesitated  to  make  hap- 
piness the  end  of  our  actions,  and  frequently  to  confound 
happiness  and  virtue.  The  doctrine  of  happiness  is  in  a 
certain  sense  favored  by  philosophic  tradition.  Socrates 
regarded  happiness  (tvirpa&a)  as  the  greatest  good  of  man- 
kind (to  kp<xtl(ttov  cTTiTijSev/xa) .  But  he  distinguished  it  from 
good  fortune  (curvxta),  and  made  it  consist  in  right  action 
(eu  iroitiv).1  Plato  teaches  the  same.  He  sets  in  opposition, 
and  at  the  same  time  rejects,  the  two  systems  which  make 
good  consist  either  in  wisdom  alone  or  in  pleasure  alone ;  and 
he  places  it  in  the  union  of  these  two  elements.  According 
to  him,  virtue  is  the  health  of  the  soul,  and  vice  its  sickness ; 
one  is  our  good,  the  other  is  our  evil;  and  punishment  is 
the  remedy  which  re-establishes  the  soul  in  its  natural  state. 
Doubtless  it  is  from  this  identity  of  virtue  and  happiness 
that  Plato  derives  his  theory  that  vice  is  involuntary ;  for,  he 
says,  no  one  will  voluntary  seek  his  evil ;  no  one  will  volun- 
tarily reject  his  good.  Between  two  goods,  no  one  will 
voluntarily  choose  the  lesser.2  As  to  Aristotle,  it  is  needless 
to  remark  that  he  regards  happiness  as  the  supreme  good. 
This  is  the  first  and  the  last  word  of  his  philosophy.3  Let 
us  pass  to  St.  Augustine :  "  We  all  wish  to  live  in  happi- 
ness," he  says.4  The  supreme  good  is  God,  and  the  supreme 
happiness  is  to  possess  God.     "  Consecutio  Dei  ipsa  beati- 

1  Xenophon,  Memorabilia,  iii.,  ix.,  14.  2  Protagoras,  358. 

8  Eth.  NlC.  I.,  1094,  a.  S.  To  KaO'  avrb  alperov  .   .   .  toiovtoi'  S'evSai^ovia. 

4  Be  Moribus  Eccles.  Cath.,  c.  iii.,  4.  "Beati  certe  omnes  vivere  volumus. 
Restat  .  .  .  ubi  beata  vita  inveniri  potest." 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS.  75 

tas" 1  To  seek  God  is  to  seek  happiness :  "  Cum  te  Deum 
meum  qucero,  vitam  beatam  qucero"2  St.  Thomas  teaches  the 
same  doctrine.  For  after  having  said  that  the  ultimate  end 
is  God,  " finis  ultimus  Deus"z  he  examines  the  nature  of 
happiness,  and,  after  reproducing  in  part  the  philosophy 
of  Aristotle,4  he  concludes,  in  conformity  with  Christian 
ideas,  that  "happiness  consists  in  the  vision  of  the  divine 
essence."  6  In  the  seventeenth  century,  the  four  great  mas- 
ters of  philosophy  —  Descartes,  Malebranche,  Leibnitz,  and 
Spinoza  —  all  maintain  the  theory  of  the  identity  of  happi- 
ness and  good.  Listen  to  the  words  of  Descartes  —  words 
which  express  with  absolute  exactitude  my  own  theory  : 

"  The  supreme  good  [he  says]  consists  in  the  exercise  of  virtue,  or, 
what  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  in  the  possession  of  all  the  perfections  whose 
acquisition  depends  upon  our  own  free  will.  Felicity  is  the  mental  satis- 
faction which  follows  this  acquisition." 

He  makes  nearly  the  same  distinction  as  does  Socrates 
between  "  happiness  and  beatitude  "  6  —  happiness  being  de- 
pendent on  exterior  things,  while  beatitude,  on  the  contrary, 
depends  upon  our  own  faculties.  "  Beatitude  is  not  the  su- 
preme good,  but  it  presupposes  its  presence." 7  He  affirms 
that  each  may  be  regarded  as  the  end  -of  our  actions :  "  for 
the  supreme  good  is  undoubtedly  the  aim  which  we  should 
present  to  ourselves  in  all  our  actions ;  and  the  contentment 
of  mind  which  follows  it,  being  the  attraction  which  led  us 
to  seek  it,  may  also  rightfully  be  called  our  end."  Finally, 
he  lays  down  the  same  principle  as  Aristotle ;  that  is,  that 
"  each  pleasure  should  be  measured  by  the  greatness  of  the 
perfection  which  it  produces. "  8 

But  we  often  deceive  ourselves  in  this  search.  "  Passion 
makes   us  believe  that  certain  things  are  better  and  more 

1  De  Moribus  Eccles.  Cath.,  xiii,,  22,  23.  2  Confessions,  xx.,  29. 

8  St.  Thomas,  Summa  Theol,  prima  secunda,  qucest.  i.,  art.  8. 
4  Ibid.,  qucest.  ii.,  iii.,  iv.,  v.  6  Ibid.,  quoest.  iii.,  art.  viii. 

•  Descartes,  ed.  Cousin,  t.  ix.,  p.  211.  7  ibid.,  p.  219.  »  Ibid.,  p.  226. 


76  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

desirable  than  they  really  are,"  and  "  the  true  office  of  rea- 
son is  to  determine  the  real  value  of  all  goods."1  These 
solid  and  sensible  maxims  are  the  basis  of  true  philosophy. 
Malebranche,  in  his  turn,  makes  the  supreme  good  consist 
in  the  love  of  order,  and  does  not  distinguish  it  from  happi- 
ness. Happiness  is  not  the  end  of  our  desires,  but  it  is  their 
motive.  Take  away  the  pleasure  which  we  derive  from  the 
love  of  order,  the  love  of  God,  and  should  we  then  love 
order,  should  we  love  God  ?  We  are  not  forbidden  to  strive 
to  be  happy,  since  self-love  is  essential  to  us :  we  are  forbid- 
den to  seek  for  our  happiness  within  ourselves.  Charity,  as 
St.  Augustine  expresses  it,  is  a  holy  concupiscence?  Leibnitz 
and  Spinoza  taught  similar  doctrines.  According  to  the 
latter ;  "  Beatitude  is  not  the  reward  of  virtue :  it  is  virtue 
itself."3  Leibnitz,  for  his  part,  teaches  "that  a  considera- 
tion of  true  happiness  would  suffice  to  make  us  prefer  virtue 
to  voluptuousness ; "  .  .  .  and  he  distinguishes  "  the  luminous 
pleasures  which  perfect  us,  without  bringing  to  us  any  dan- 
ger of  falling  into  some  greater  imperfection,  as  do  the  con- 
fused pleasures  of  the  senses."  4 

Again,  listen  to  the  practical  moralists,  the  preachers  and 
wise  men  of  all  ages.  They  unceasingly  commend  to  us  true 
goods  in  preference  to  apparent  and  false  goods.  They  show 
us  that  happiness  lies  in  wisdom,  in  innocent  joys,  in  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  noble  faculties  of  the  soul.  They  paint  for 
us  the  happiness  of  domestic  life,  the  great  joys  of  a  pub- 
lic life  devoted  to  the  happiness  of  mankind,  or  of  a  religious 
life  consecrated  to  the  worship  of  God:  they  pity  and  de- 
plore the  false  pleasures  of  libertines  and  ambitious  men. 

The  truth  is,  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  happiness — one 
purely  relative,  since  it  depends  on  the  state  of  the  indi- 
vidual organs  and  development ;  the  other  absolute,  since  it 

1  Descartes,  ed.  Cousin,  t.  ix.,  p.  226.  2  Malebranche,  Morale,  ch.  xv. 

8  Ethics,  1.  v.,  prop.  xlii. 

4  Leibnitz,  Nouveaux  Essais,  1.  ii.,  c.  xxi.  Also,  and  above  all,  see  the  im- 
portant passages  which  I  have  quoted  farther  on,  chap,  v.,  p.  90. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS.  77 

rests  upon  the  essential  and  intrinsic  value  of  the  human  fac- 
ulties. One  is  outside  of  discussion,  for  we  cannot  dispute 
about  tastes :  the  other,  on  the  contrary,  is  one  which  forces 
itself,  or  which  at  least  may  force  itself,  as  a  supersensible 
object,  upon  every  one  who  attempts  to  find  his  happiness 
elsewhere,  where  it  does  not  really  lie.  Accepting  the  theory 
of  pleasure,  you  can  make  no  reply  to  him  who  says,  "  Let 
each  take  his  pleasure  wherever  he  finds  it."  But,  accepting 
the  true  theory  of  happiness,  you  can  say,  You  ought  not 
to  be  happy  in  this  way,  because  it  is  not  the  happiness  of 
a  man,  but  of  a  child,  of  a  slave,  or  of  an  animal :  you  ought 
to  be  happy  in  the  way  that  is  suitable  to  your  own  nature.1 

The  mistake  of  the  Utilitarians  does  not  consist  in  their 
having  proposed  happiness  as  the  end  of  human  actions,  but 
in  their  adoption  of  an  erroneous  definition  of  happiness. 

Happiness  is  not,  as  Bentham  claims,  the  greatest  possible 
sum  of  pleasure :  it  is  the  highest  possible  state  of  excellence, 
from  whence  results  the  most  excellent  pleasure.  There  is, 
then,  a  true  and  a  false  happiness,  there  are  true  goods  and 
false  goods ;  and  man  may  be  required  to  choose  the  one  in 
preference  to  the  other.  Thus  the  theory  of  happiness  fur- 
nishes a  rule  which  is  not  found  in  that  of  pleasure,  and 
one  may  agree  with  the  former  without  accepting  the  latter. 

That  in  the  idea  of  happiness,  as  in  the  idea  of  good,  there 
is  an  essential  and  absolute  element  which  cannot  be  meas- 
ured by  the  feeling  of  the  individual,  is  shown  by  the  opin- 
ions expressed  by  men  under  many  circumstances.  Take,  for 
example,  an  insane  person,  who  has  a  bright  and  cheerful 
mania,  and  who,  having  no  consciousness  of  his  infirmity, 

1  Kant  himself,  in  his  analysis  of  the  judgment  of  taste  (Kritik  der  Urtheils- 
kraft,  1.  i.,  v.  8  and  9),  clearly  demonstrated  that  there  are  certain  pleasures,  for 
example  that  of  the  beautiful,  which  we  feel  that  we  have  a  right  to  require 
of  other  men  in  a  necessary  and  universal  way.  Undoubtedly  a  man  may  be 
an  utter  stranger  to  the  feeling  for  the  beautiful,  as  he  may  be  also  to  the 
moral  sentiment.  But,  if  he  undertakes  to  judge  and  enjoy  the  beautiful,  he 
ought  to  find  pleasure  in  Athalie  and  in  the  Parthenon :  otherwise  we  regard 
him  as  incompetent,  and,  if  he  persists,  as  absurd.  The  same  is  true  of  moral 
pleasure. 


78  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

considers  himself  the  happiest  of  men.  Do  we  agree  with 
him  ?  Do  we  consider  him  truly  happy  ?  Evidently  we  do 
not,  for  we  would  not  be  willing  to  exchange  lots  with  him : 
no  one  would  desire  such  a  happiness,  either  for  himself  or 
for  his  friends,  or  for  his  relatives.  We  should  not  desire  it, 
even  if  we  could  be  certain  of  losing  all  consciousness  of  our 
actual  condition,  nor  even  if  we  could  be  unconscious  of 
passing  from  one  state  into  the  other.  Thus  we  judge  that 
the  state  of  reason  (in  spite  of  all  the  trials  by  which  it  may 
be  accompanied)  is  a  better  and  happier  state  than  that  of 
madness,  even  should  this  be  the  most  agreeable  and  delight- 
ful to  the  feelings.  It  is  because  the  state  of  reason  is  the 
normal  state  of  man,  that  which  is  suited  to  his  nature,  and 
that  true  happiness  should  be  that  which  results  from  our 
true  nature.  We  do  not  desire  to  become  lunatics  any  more 
than  to  become  beasts ;  because  for  man,  so  far  as  he  knows 
himself  to  be  such,  there  is  no  happiness  except  on  condition 
of  being  and  remaining  man. 

As  an  argument  against  this,  some  one  may  instance  the 
happiness  of  childhood,  which  every  one  regrets  and  envies, 
and  which  is  regarded  as  the  truest  and  purest  happiness, 
although  it  is  not  human  happiness  in  its  fullest  develop- 
ment, since  the  child  is  not  yet  a  man,  and  the  highest  facul- 
ties of  man  exist  within  him  only  in  the  germ.  This  proves, 
some  say,  that  happiness  is  relative  to  the  feelings  of  the 
individual.  Not  at  all.  The  melancholy  regret  which  we 
feel  in  thinking  of  the  happiness  of  our  childhood,  and  in 
enjoying  the  actual  happiness  of  the  children  around  us,  does 
not  mean  that  we  wish  to  remain  in,  or  to  return  to,  child- 
hood. "  No  one,"  says  Plato,  "  would  wish  to  remain  always 
a  child,  even  though  he  were  promised  all  the  pleasures  which 
one  can  enjoy  at  that  age."  Thus,  being  a  man,  no  one 
would  wish  for  the  happiness  of  a  child :  no  one,  for  exam- 
ple, although  in  a  sense  regretting  to  see  his  own  children 
growing  up,  would  desire  to  see  them  remain  for  an  indefi- 
nite period  in  the  innocence  and  ignorance   of  childhood. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS.  79 

The  happiness  of  childhood  has,  then,  only  a  relative  value  in 
our  eyes.  As  it  is  according  to  the  nature  of  things  that 
man  should  pass  through  the  state  of  childhood  before  be- 
coming a  man,  childhood,  if  it  is  not  prolonged  beyond  the 
time  fixed  by  nature,  is  one  of  the  normal  phases  in  the  de- 
velopment of  humanity :  it  is  the  human  essence  expressing 
itself  in  definite  and  necessary,  although  relative  and  transi- 
tory, forms.  But  here  also  we  distinguish  the  absolute  from 
the  relative,  the  true  happiness  from  the  false.  The  true  hap- 
piness of  the  child  is  associated  with  the  idea  of  innocence, 
of  candor,  of  ingenuous  and  free  spontaneity.  Imagine,  on 
the  contrary,  a  precocious  child,  finding  pleasure  in  injuring 
others,  prematurely  enjoying  human  vices :  whatever  pleas- 
ure the  child  might  find  in  such  a  state,  we  should  consider 
it  unhappy,  we  should  pity  it,  and  we  should  try  to  make  it 
understand  that  it  was  preferring  a  false  to  a  real  happiness. 

Thus  we  see  that  no  one  would  desire  the  happiness  of 
a  lunatic,  nor  even  that  of  a  child  (although  the  latter  has  a 
relative  value,  since  its  reason  is  found  in  the  very  nature 
of  things);  so,  too,  no  one,  if  he  were  enlightened,  would 
desire  the  happiness  of  a  slave,  no  matter  what  pleasures 
there  might  be  for  his  senses  in  that  state.  Imagine  a  slave 
so  well  treated  that  he  should  actually  love  his  slavery,  like 
the  dog  in  La  Fontaine's  fable :  would  this  be  true  happi- 
ness ?  would  it  be  the  legitimate  happiness  of  man  ?  No  one 
would  dare  to  say  so,  for  no  one  would  wish  to  be  taken  at 
his  word.  One  may  readily  admit,  that,  for  a  person  who 
knew  no  other  condition,  it  would  be  a  state  of  relative 
happiness,  as  it  is  for  the  domestic  cat,  to  be  well  fed,  be 
greatly  caressed,  and  sleep  luxuriously  on  its  master's  car- 
pet. But  one  who  is  conscious  of  human  responsibility  and 
of  the  virile  happiness  which  accompanies  it,  would  refuse 
to  exchange  even  its  grievous  trials  for  the  far  niente  of  a 
favorite  slave.  He  would  regard  his  condition  as  being  abso- 
lutely happier,  although  he  might  have  more  to  suffer. 

If  the  true  idea  of  happiness  should  be  derived  from  the 


80  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

essence  of  human  nature,  and  not  be  measured  by  individual 
feeling,  it  follows  that  man's  will  may  be  divided  between 
happiness  and  pleasure,  as  it  is  between  virtue  and  utility. 
He  feels  that  certain  goods  promise  him  a  happiness  that  is 
not  only  greater,  but  better,  than  certain  others  offer.  He 
knows  very  well  that  he  should  be  happier  in  striving  after 
them ;  he  envies  the  lot  of  those  who  are  able  to  enjoy  such 
excellent  goods;  he  would  like  to  enjoy  them  himself;  he 
blames  himself  for  not  enjoying  this  happiness,  which  is  so 
true  and  pure  that  his  reason  declares  it  to  be  the  only 
legitimate  object  of  his  desires,  while  passion  drives  him 
away  from  it.  For  example,  a  woman  who  hesitates  between 
maternal  love  and  an  illegitimate  passion,  will  distinguish 
clearly,  in  the  lucid  intervals  which  occur  in  the  intoxica- 
tion of  her  senses,  that  maternal  happiness  is  of  a  very  differ- 
ent order,  and  has  a  very  different  value,  from  the  happiness 
of  the  paramour.  Not  that  one  really  gives  more  pleasure 
than  the  other;  for,  in  regard  to  intensity  of  pleasure,  the 
passion  may  be  far  superior  to  the  emotion :  but  the  happi- 
ness of  a  mother  has  more  dignity  and  beauty  than  that  of 
a  paramour,  because  in  the  former  the  moral  personality 
retains  all  its  independence ;  while  in  the  latter,  on  the  con- 
trary, this  is  sacrificed.  Thus  happiness,  in  its  true  meaning, 
is  opposed  to  pleasure;  and  it  is  clear  that  it  might  be  a 
duty  to  prefer  one  to  the  other. 

Doubtless  it  will  be  said  that  here  I  have  changed  the 
meaning  of  words,  and  have  confounded  happiness  with 
virtue.  If,  it  will  be  objected,  you  define  true  happiness  as 
the  fulfilment  of  duty,  or  the  practice  of  virtue,  it  will,  of 
course,  be  possible  to  identify  happiness  with  good.  But  if 
you  give  happiness  its  true  meaning,  it  is  nothing  but  pleas- 
ure (refined  or  otherwise),  and  has  a  moral  value  only  in  so 
far  as  it  is  the  consequence  and  the  reward  of  merit,  but  not 
in  itself.  If  the  happiness  of  maternal  love  is  better  than 
the  happiness  of  the  senses,  it  is  because  maternal  love  is  a 
duty,  and  the  fulfilment  of  this  duty  is  a  virtue. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS.  81 

But  in  my  view  maternal  love  is  a  duty,  only  because  in 
itself,  and  before  the  existence  of  any  moral  law,  it  is  an 
inclination  of  a  higher  order  than  that  of  the  senses  —  a 
loftier,  purer,  nobler  activity ;  and  for  this  very  reason,  inde- 
pendently of  any  moral  merit,  it  necessarily  affords  a  certain 
happiness.  This  happiness  is  not  necessarily  more  intense 
than  that  of  the  senses,  but  it  is  better :  it  has  more  value, 
more  substance,  more  purity  and  dignity.  We  may,  then, 
bring  this  happiness  before  us  by  our  imagination,  may  even 
enjoy  it  to  a  certain  extent  through  the  sensibility,  and  by 
our  reason  may  judge  it  to  be  preferable  to  any  other,  while 
at  the  same  time  our  senses  drive  us  imperiously  toward  some 
object  of  the  senses  which  is  inferior,  which  we  recognize  as 
being  so,  but  which  we  pursue  with  sighs,  despising  our- 
selves, and  wishing  that  we  were  strong  enough  to  enjoy  true 
happiness  in  peace. 

Thus,  when  I  oppose  true  happiness  to  pleasure,  I  am  not 
as  yet  speaking  of  moral  happiness,  nor  of  the  contentment 
of  conscience  which  follows  the  conscious  and  voluntary 
accomplishment  of  good.  It  would  be,  indeed,  a  vicious 
circle  if  I  were  to  begin  with  postulating  such  a  moral  con- 
tentment before  establishing  even  the  principle  of  good. 
The  Utilitarians  are  often  guilty  of  this  paralogism,  and 
Kant  has  justly  criticised  them  for  this.  No:  moral  happi- 
ness, or  the  satisfaction  of  the  conscience,  is  the  direct  con- 
sequence of  a  certain  act  of  a  particular  nature,  which  is 
the  virtuous  action.  Virtue  itself  is  not  a  special  faculty 
of  the  soul :  it  is  the  moral  force  by  means  of  which  we  obey 
duty.  Duty,  in  its  turn,  cannot  command  us  without  a 
motive :  if  it  orders  us  to  prefer  one  faculty  to  another,  it 
is  because  the  one  is  in  itself  of  a  superior  order.  Now,  the 
exercise  of  a  faculty,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  accompanied  by 
a  certain  happiness ;  and  happiness,  as  Spinoza  has  said,  is 
simply  "the  joy  which  the  soul  feels  in  contemplating  its 
power  of  action."  Happiness  is,  then,  directly  connected 
with  the  act ;  it  is  the  act  itself :  and,  since  it  is  our  duty  to 


82  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

prefer  the  most  perfect  act  to  that  which  is  less  perfect,  it  is 
also  our  duty  to  prefer  the  best  happiness  to  that  of  less 
worth  and  value. 

Notwithstanding  my  effort  to  distinguish  this  theory  of 
happiness  from  the  common  theory  of  pleasure,  the  latter 
will  still  be  insisted  on,  and  it  will  be  said ;  happiness,  what- 
ever you  may  say,  cannot  be  separated  from  the  idea  of 
pleasure.  It  is  not  the  activity  itself  which  is  happiness: 
it  is  the  feeling  of  this  activity.  Aristotle  did  indeed  make 
happiness  consist  in  activity,  but  he  adds  to  this,  pleasure. 
"It  is  pleasure,"  he  says,  "which  completes  and  perfects  the 
act:  it  is  united  to  the  action,"  he  says  poetically,  "as 
beauty  is  united  with  youth."  If  this  is  true ;  if  pleasure 
enters  necessarily  into  happiness,  and  is  the  essential  element 
of  it ;  if  every  act  is  accompanied  by  pleasure ;  if  the  best  of 
acts  is  accompanied  by  the  greatest  pleasures  —  then,  when 
I  prefer  the  greater  happiness  to  the  lesser,  it  is,  after  all, 
only  pleasure  that  I  prefer  to  pleasure.  Doubtless  it  is  a 
more  refined,  more  noble  and  generous,  egotism,  but  still  it 
is  egotism. 

Perhaps  it  is  just  here,  in  this  attempt  to  utterly  exclude 
all  kinds  of  pleasure  from  morality,  that  we  may  find  the 
reason  for  the  ill  success  which  the  abstract  and  formal 
doctrine  of  pure  duty  has  met  with  among  the  majority  of 
mankind,  and  of  the  resistance  which  the  utilitarian  school 
always  makes  to  it.  The  latter  feels  that  it  stands  on  firm 
and  solid  ground  when  it  asks  if  it  is  possible  for  man  to 
put  aside  all  desire  for  happiness.  Religious  philosophy, 
much  less  fastidious  in  this  respect  than  the  abstract  moral- 
ity of  the  schools,  does  not  hesitate  to  make  constant  appeals 
to  the  feeling  of  pleasure.  Finally,  even  the  abstract  moral- 
ists themselves  unconsciously  do  the  same  thing.  For  when 
Kant  and  Fichte  set  before  us  their  idea  of  moral  force,  of 
moral  personality,  which  will  not  allow  itself  to  be  moved 
either  by  low  desires  or  by  external  constraint,  they  uncon- 
sciously set  before  us  an  ideal  of  elevation  which  is  very 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS.  83 

agreeable  to  human  self-respect :  and  when  they  urge  us 
above  all  things  not  to  become  objects  of  contempt,  either 
to  others  or  to  ourselves,  they  take  good  care  to  represent 
a  state  which  would  be  very  painful  to  our  feelings;  for 
what  is  more  sad  than  to  despise  one's  self,  or  to  be  de- 
spised ? 

The  doctrine  of  pure  duty,  without  any  admixture  of  mo- 
tive taken  from  the  feelings,  resembles  the  doctrine  of  pure 
love,  advocated  by  the  Quietists,  and  condemned  by  the 
wisest  theologians.  The  mystics  of  the  school  -of  Molinos, 
of  Mme.  Guyon,  of  F^nelon,  maintained  that  the  disinter- 
estedness of  love  to  God  should  be  carried  to  the  extent  of 
indifference  to  salvation.  Some  went  so  far  as  to  say  they 
would  consent  to  be  damned  to  please  God,  and  to  free 
themselves  from  all  personal  feeling.  Bossuet  very  sensibly 
condemned  these  exaggerated  views,  and  proved  that  abso- 
lute indifference  to  one's  self  is  not  required  by  theology.1 
I  believe  that  the  same  is  true  of  morality. 

Moreover,  if  we  consider  more  carefully  the  objections 
which  hold  good  against  the  theory  of  pleasure,  we  shall  see 
that  these  do  not  apply  to  that  of  happiness. 

First,  If  I  am  advised  to  seek  for  a  certain  pleasure  be- 
cause it  is  better  than  the  others  which  I  can  obtain,  it  does 
not  follow  that  it  must  be  a  more  agreeable  pleasure ;  as  we 
have  already  made  a  distinction  between  the  quality  and  the 
quantity  of  pleasure.  Second,  Even  if  I  should  think  that 
in  itself  this  pleasure,  for  those  who  are  able  to  enjoy  it, 
must  be  more  agreeable  than  mine,  it  does  not  follow  that  for 
me,  and  to  my  feelings,  it  would  appear  to  me  to  be   so. 

i  See  the  fine  work  by  Bossuet  entitled:  Instruction  sur  les  Ittats  d'Oraison. 
Leibnitz  has  also  given  a  sound  refutation  of  the  doctrine  of  pure  love: 
"  Araare  et  diligere  ...  est  amati  felicitate  perfectionibusque  delectari.  Hie 
quosdam  inihi  objecisse  intellegi  perfectius  esse,  ita  in  Deum  sese  abjicere, 
ut  sola  ejus  voluntate  moveare,  non  delectatione  tua;  sed  sciendum  est  talia 
natures  rerum  repugnare :  nam  conatus  agendi  oritur  tendendo  ad  perfectionem, 
cujus  sensus  delectatio  est;  neque  aliter  actio  vel  voluntas  constat."—  Dutens, 
t.  iv.,  p.  313,  Prozf.  Cod.  Diplom. 


84  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Third,  Though  I  may  know  in  an  abstract  and  general  way 
that  every  act  is  accompanied  by  pleasure,  and  that,  if  I 
should  perform  a  certain  act,  I  should  have  pleasure,  it  does 
not  follow  that  this  image  of  pleasure  would  have  equal 
influence  with  the  sensitive  pleasure  given  by  the  objects 
of  my  habitual  desires.  Consequently  I  might  represent  to 
myself  this  pleasure  to  be  sought,  so  as  to  make  it  merely  an 
intellectual  object,  and  not  one  of  feeling.  Fourth,  Although 
an  act  when  perfected  may  be  accompanied  by  pleasure,  it 
does  not  follow  that  it  is  agreeable  to  the  one  who  performs 
it ;  but  it  may,  on  the  contrary,  be  extremely  painful.  For 
example,  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  who  has  formed  the  habit 
of  commanding  his  passions  is  happier  than  he  who  is  subject 
to  them;  but  it  is  not  so  at  first.  Consequently,  in  the 
theory  of  happiness,  as  well  as  in  that  of  abstract  duty, 
virtue  is  shown  to  be  a  painful  and  difficult  constraint. 
Fifth,  Finally  I  admit  that  an  act  is  moral  in  proportion  as 
our  minds  are  occupied  with  the  thought  of  its  intrinsic  ex- 
cellence, without  thinking  of  the  pleasure  which  accompanies 
it.  But  it  is  doubtful  whether  an  utter  disregard  of  pleasure 
is  possible  for  humanity ;  and  it  is  to  be  feared,  that,  in  re- 
quiring too  much,  we  might  sacrifice  to  a  dream  our  real  and 
possible  morality.  Kant  himself  affirms  that  not  a  single  act 
of  virtue  was  ever  performed  by  any  man.  But  the  morality 
which  we  need  is  one  which  is  suited  to  man,  and  not  to  some 
creature  who  might  exist.  The  world  which  ought  to  be  can 
have  no  interest  for  us,  except  so  far  as  something  may  pass 
from  it  into  the  world  as  it  is. 

The  theory  of  happiness  seems  to  the  gloomy  and  profound 
philosopher  Schopenhauer  a  pure  chimera  and  delusion  ;  and, 
hostile  as  he  is  to  the  theory  of  duty,  he  congratulates  Kant 
on  having  gotten  rid  of  the  theory  of  eudcemonism.1  The 
reason  for  this  view  is  found  in  the  absolute  pessimism  of 
this  philosopher.     He  maintains  that   "this  world  is  the 

1  Schopenhauer,  Kritik  der  Kantixchen  Philosophie,  p.  620,  at  the  end  of  the 
first  volume  of  the  work,  Die  Welt  als  Wille.    3d  ed.,  1859. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESSl 

worst  possible  world;"  that  consequently  it  is  absurd  to 
propose  happiness  as  an  object  of  action  to  those  in  it. 
Men  being  necessarily  unhappy,  the  only  moral  law  is  to 
pity,  and  if  possible  to  relieve,  their  woes :  the  true  principle 
cf  action  is  pity,  das  Mitleid.  Even  if  we  should  grant  this, 
it  would  still  be  true  that  philosophy,  having  for  its  object 
the  relief  of  human  woes,  would  by  that  means  give  them  all 
the  happiness  which  they  can  have ;  while  at  the  same  time 
one  who  should  act  in  accordance  with  it  would  also  secure 
for  himself  the  best  and  purest  enjoyment.  The  principle  of 
pity  does  not,  then,  exclude  the  principle  of  happiness. 

To  sum  up.  good  consists  in  perfection  and  happiness  in- 
dissolubly  united.  It  is,  again,  the  identity  of  perfection 
and  of  happiness.  Here  is  the  point  of  coincidence  and 
of  agreement  between  the  theories  of  interest  and  of  duty. 
It  is,  indeed,  our  interest  which  recommends  virtue  to  us; 
and,  if  we  consider  the  subject  more  carefully,  we  shall  see 
that  it  would,  in  reality,  be  contradictory  for  a  being  to  act 
with  a  view  to  an  interest  which  is  utterly  foreign  to  him. 
That  which  has  no  analogy  with  my  nature  is  nothing  to 
me,  and  cannot  possibly  be  a  motive  for  my  action.1  To 
demand  that  I  should  sacrifice  myself  for  that  which  is  not 
myself,  is  to  suppose  that  there  is  something  within  me 
which  is  capable  of  sacrifice,  consequently  something  excel- 
lent, having  an  intrinsic  value.  This  something  cannot  be 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  me.  By  sacrificing  the  inferior 
part  of  our  nature,  the  superior  part  (to  rjyefxovLKbv)  preserves 
and  protects  itself.  Thus,  it  is  in  my  own  interest  that  the 
moral  law  commands  me  to  sacrifice  my  senses  to  my  reason, 
my  egotism  to  my  benevolent  and  affectionate  sentiments. 
I  can  be  happy  only  through  the  sacrifice,  but  this  sacrifice 
will  inevitably  make  me  happy.    And  unless  one  were  to 

i  Kant  himself  admits  that  we  cannot  submit  to  the  law  of  duty  if  we  do 
not  feel  some  interest  in  it.  See  Kritik  der  Urtheilskra/t,  1.  i.,  v.  4.  To  see  a 
thing,  and  to  find  satisfaction  in  the  existence  of  that  thing,  that  is  to  say,  to 
feel  an  interest  in  it,  is  the  same  thing. 


86  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

separate  one's  self  from  one's  self,  which  is  impossible,  one 
will  always  find  one's  self  at  the  root  of  every  thing. 
Gloomy  and  misanthropic  observers  of  nature  delight  in 
revealing  the  element  of  self-love  in  all  our  passions  and 
in  all  our  actions,  that  they  may  triumph  over  man.  But 
who  cannot  see  that  it  could  not  possibly  be  otherwise  ? 
Can  a  being  rid  himself  entirely  of  love  of  being?  and  is 
existence,  as  Spinoza  said,  any  thing  but  an  effort  to  con- 
tinue in  being?  The  greatest  of  sacrifices  can  be  nothing 
but  the  sacrifice  of  our  apparent  to  our  true  being.  At 
bottom,  it  is  always  the  interest  of  our  preservation  and  of 
our  being  perfected,  two  inseparable  terms,  which  duty  and 
virtue  enjoin  upon  us.  Thus,  morality  requires  only  an 
apparent  sacrifice,  a  sacrifice  which  is  really  in  accord  with 
our  most  imperious  instincts. 

"If  [says  Aristotle]  a  man  should  seek  only  to  acquire  justice,  wis- 
dom, or  some  other  virtue,  ...  it  would  be  impossible  to  call  him  an 
egotist,  and  to  blame  him.  However,  is  he  not,  in  a  certain  sense,  more 
egotistical  than  other  men,  since  he  desires  for  himself  the  best  and 
most  beautiful  things,  and  since  he  enjoys  the  most  exalted  part  of  his 
being  ?  ...  It  is  plain  that  it  is  this  supreme  principle  which  is  the 
essence  of  man,  and  which  the  virtuous  man  prefers  above  all  others. 
According  to  this  view,  it  would  then  be  necessary  to  call  him  the  most 
egotistic  of  men.  But  this  noble  egotism  is  as  much  superior  to  common 
egotism  as  reason  is  to  passion,  or  as  the  good  is  to  the  merely  useful." 1 

Those  who  defend  utilitarianism  are,  then,  right  in  saying 
that  man  cannot  act  without  being  influenced  by  his  interest ; 
but  they  do  not  explain  clearly  what  that  interest  is,  for 
they  see  in  it  merely  a  certain  sum,  combination,  or  means 
of  enjoyment,  having  for  its  sole  term  the  individual  alone 
in  the  narrowest  sense ;  and  they  make  all  these  enjoyments 
enter  into  the  calculation,  for  the  same  reason,  and  without 
any  difference,  except  that  of  intensity,  liveliness,  duration, 
certainty,  etc. ;  in  a  word,  they  regard  it  merely  as  a  ques- 
tion of  quantity.     But,  as  has  already  been  frequently  re- 

1  Ethics  Nic.t  1.  ix.,  v.  iii. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HAPPINESS.  87 

marked,  quality  should  be  ranked  above  quantity.  Now,  the 
quality  of  enjoyments  depends  on  the  quality,  that  is  to  say, 
on  the  excellence  and  the  nobility,  of  the  faculties.  True  in- 
terest is,  then,  the  interest  of  the  better  part  of  our  being 
compared  with  the  lower.  Thus  explained,  we  can  accept 
their  doctrine  :  only  it  is  not  our  interest,  properly  under- 
stood, to  prefer  the  useful  to  the  agreeable,  but  to  prefer 
that  which  is  becoming  to  both  of  them.  Now,  that  which  is 
becoming  (honestwm,  KaXoKayaOov)  is  the  honor,  the  dignity, 
the  beauty  of  the  soul :  it  is  that  by  which  we  are  truly  men. 
If,  then,  we  must  necessarily  love  ourselves,  this  is  that 
which  we  ought  to  love  most  in  ourselves. 

If  the  theory  of  interest  has  a  basis  of  truth,  which  has  just 
been  made  clear,  the  theory  of  duty  is  none  the  less  entirely 
and  absolutely  true  ;  for  if  there  is  a  true  and  a  false  happi- 
ness, an  interest  which  is  legitimate,  and  another  which  is 
not  so,  if  there  are  in  man  inferior  and  superior  parts,  it 
is  our  duty  to  prefer  our  true  to  our  apparent  interest,  even 
when  our  feelings  would  draw  us  toward  the  latter,  and 
not  toward  the  former.  Doubtless,  there  is  within  us  an 
affection  which  tends  spontaneously  toward  our  true  inter- 
est; but  this  affection  may  be  much  less  vehement  and 
active  than  that  which  draws  us  toward  our  sensitive  and 
apparent  interest.  We  need,  then,  a  law  which  shall  enjoin 
upon  us  our  own  good  in  spite  of  ourselves ;  and  this  law  is 
laid  upon  our  feelings  by  our  reason.  Hence  come  the  char- 
acteristics generally  recognized  as  belonging  to  the  law  of 
duty  —  necessity  and  universality :  for  we  cannot  fail  to 
recognize  the  superiority  of  our  moral  personality  to  our 
sentient  being ;  and  this  superiority  is  evident  to  every  one, 
whatever  may  be  the  individual  tastes  and  feelings.  To 
keep  the  law  of  duty  intact,  it  is  enough  that  there  shall  be 
something  absolute  in  its  object.  Now,  this  absolute  ele- 
ment is  the  essence  of  humanity,  which  is  the  same  in  every 
man  and  in  all  ages  (although  it  is  not  always  perceived  in 
the  same  manner) ;  and,  as  we  shall  see  later,  the  variations 


88  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

in  the  moral  consciousness  do  not  alter  in  any  respect  the 
essential  and  absolute  object  after  which  it  strives. 

This  doctrine,  then,  presents  itself  as  a  sort  of  rational 
eudcemonism,  since  it  makes  happiness  the  highest  good,  in 
accordance  with  the  nearly  unanimous  opinion  of  all  philos- 
ophers :  but  it  does  not  take  individual  feeling  for  a  criterion 
of  happiness;  it  bases  happiness  upon  the  true  nature  of 
man,  which  can  be  recognized  only  by  reason.  In  a  word,  it 
does  not  measure  happiness  by  pleasure,  but  on  the  contrary 
it  measures  pleasure  by  happiness ;  so  that  pleasures  have  a 
value  only  in  proportion  to  the  part  which  they  may  have  in 
our  happiness,  whose  basis  is  in  our  perfection.  Aristotle 
expressed  this  admirably  when  he  said ;  "  True  pleasures  are 
those  which  appear  such  to  the  virtuous  man,  and  the  virtu- 
ous man  is  the  measure  for  all  things." 


CHAPTER  V. 

IMPERSONAL  GOODS. 

IpROM  what  precedes,  we  see  that  we  can  agree  with  the 
-*-  advocates  of  the  theory  of  happiness,  if  by  happiness 
they  mean,  not  that  which  gives  us  any  sort  of  pleasure,  or 
the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure,  but  the  best  pleasure ;  that 
is,  the  most  excellent  activity.  Hence  the  most  perfect  hap- 
piness is  found  in  the  highest  perfection :  and  this  highest  per- 
fection, in  its  turn,  is  found  in  the  most  exalted  act  of  human 
nature ;  that  is,  in  free  and  reasonable  activity,  or  personality. 
Thus  are  reconciled  the  principle  of  Aristotle  —  viz.,  hap- 
piness; the  principle  of  Wolf — viz.,  perfection;  and  the 
principle  of  Kant  and  Fichte  —  viz.,  human  personality.  If 
Kant  combated  the  principle  of  happiness,  it  was  because  he 
always  confounded  it  with  that  of  pleasure ;  if  he  combated 
the  principle  of  perfection,  it  was  because  he  had  always  in 
view  the  idea  of  an  abstract  perfection,  separated  from  the 
essence  of  humanity,  and  having  with  it  only  an  external 
relation;  and  he  could  never  understand  how  an  object, 
which  is  outside  of  myself,  can  determine  my  activity  with- 
out the  intervention  of  desire  and  of  pleasure.  But  if  by 
perfection  is  meant,  not  perfection  in  general,  but  my  own 
perfection,  or  the  development  of  my  own  essential  nature, 
it  is  comprehensible  that  this  intrinsic  and  personal  perfec- 
tion may  have  a  personal  interest  for  me,  and  that  I  cannot 
conceive  it  without  at  the  same  time  conceiving  it  as  my  good. 
The  above  theory  is  fully  expressed  in  those  strong  and 
beautiful  words  of  Leibnitz,  whose  truth  could  never  be 
effaced  and  destroyed  by  the  philosophy  of  Kant :  — 


90  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

"I  call  perfection  all  which  elevates  the  being  (alle  Erhohung  des 
Wesens).  ...  It  consists  in  the  power  to  act  (in  der  Kraft  zu  wirken)  ; 
and,  as  every  being  consists  of  a  certain  force,  the  greater  this  force,  the 
higher  and  freer  is  the  being  (hoher  und  freier  ist  das  Weseri).  Moreover, 
the  greater  the  force,  the  more  clearly  it  shows  within  itself  plurality  in 
unity  (Viel  aus  einem  und  in  einem1).  Now,  one  in  many  is  nothing  else 
than  harmony  (die  Uebereinstimmung)  ;  and,  from  harmony,  beauty  is 
born ;  and  beauty  gives  birth  to  love.  From  which  we  see  how  Happi- 
ness, Pleasure,  Love,  Perfection,  Essence,  Force,  Liberty,  Harmony,  Order, 
are  linked  together,  which  very  few  philosophers  have  remarked.  When 
the  soul  feels  within  itself  harmony,  order,  liberty,  force,  or  perfection,  it 
also  feels  pleasure ;  and  this  state  produces  a  durable  joy  which  cannot 
deceive.  Now,  when  such  a  joy  comes  from  knowledge,  and  is  accom- 
panied by  light,  and  consequently  produces  in  the  will  a  certain  inclina- 
tion toward  good,  this  is  what  we  call  virtue."2 

This  is  the  comment  which  Leibnitz  makes  upon  that 
proposition  which  I  have  already  quoted,  and  which  I  chose 
as  giving  the  best  summary  of  my  own  ideas :  Bonum  mentis 
naturale,  quum  est  voluntarium,  fit  bonum  morale. 

But  here  new  difficulties  arise,  for  how  can  we  pass  from 
our  own  proper  good  to  the  good  of  another?  Morality 
demands  of  us  not  only  our  own  individual  perfection:  it 
requires,  also,  that  we  should  seek  the  happiness  of  others, 
or,  at  the  least,  that  we  should  do  no  injury  to  their  dignity, 
their  rights,  and  their  proper  goods.  How,  then,  can  we 
rise  from  personal  to  impersonal  goods?  Here  philosophy 
seems  to  encounter  the  same  difficulty  that  arises  in  meta- 
physics—  to  pass  from  the  Ego  to  the  Non-Ego,  and  from 
the  subject  to  the 'object. 

1  Leibnitz  says,  plurality  from  and  within  unity  (aus  and  in).  The  word  avs 
signifies  the  plurality  which  comes  out  of  unity,  which  is  exterior  and  subordi- 
nate to  it.  The  word  in  expresses  interior  plurality.  He  explains  it  thus : 
"  So  that  unity  rules  outside  of  itself  or,  rather,  represents  within  itself  a  greater 
numher  of  things.  Those  who  are  familiar  with  Leibnitz'  Monadology  will 
remember  that  a  monad  occupies  a  higher  rank  in  proportion  as  it  has  a  larger 
number  of  subordinate  monads,  or  itself  possesses  a  greater  number  of  per- 
ceptions. 

2  Ueber  die  Gluckseligkeit.  Leibnitz,  opera  philosophica,  Erdm.  lxxviii., 
p.  627. 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS.  91 

According  to  one  school  of  philosophy,  the  only  good  with 
which  moral  science  can  concern  itself  is  the  common  good, 
public  good,  or  what  is  called  the  general  interest.  The 
Utilitarians  themselves  have  frequently,  without  being  dis- 
tinctly conscious  of  it,  confounded  this  general  utility  with 
personal  and  individual  utility ;  and  this  confusion,  which  is 
contrary  in  principle  to  their  system,  has  often  concealed 
from  them  its  gaps  and  imperfections.1  On  the  other  hand, 
others  have  clearly  distinguished  the  difference  between  a 
private  interest  and  the  general  interest  of  humanity,  and 
they  have  claimed  that  the  essence  of  good  consists  in  that 
which  is  useful  to  all.2 

It  is,  therefore,  necessary  to  give  some  consideration  to  the 
elucidation  of  whatever  vagueness  and  confusion  there  may 
be  in  this  principle. 

It  may  be  remarked,  first,  that  this  theory,  as  well  as  com- 
mon utilitarianism,  is  based  upon  an  equivocal  expression, 
that  of  utility.     Recall  what  has  already  been  said :  in  the 

1  For  example,  Mr.  J.  Stuart  Mill  tells  us:  "  The  utilitarian  criterion  is  not 
the  happiness  of  the  agent  himself,  but  that  of  all  interested  parties  :  utilitarian- 
ism requires  that  as  between  his  good  and  that  of  others  the  agent  should  be 
as  strictly  impartial  as  a  benevolent  and  disinterested  spectator  would  be."  If 
the  matter  is  thus  understood,  then  plainly  there  can  he  no  discussion;  for  the 
adversaries  of  utilitarianism  oppose  it  only  on  the  hypothesis  that  it  is  the 
theory  of  personal,  not  of  general,  interest.  Have  there  been  philosophers 
who  have  thus  understood  it  ?  It  would  be  difficult  to  deny  it.  Theoretically, 
are  the  principles  of  personal  and  of  general  utility  identical  ?  Evidently 
they  are  not.  They  are  two  principles,  having  nothing  in  common  but  the 
word  utility.  Mr.  Mill  does  indeed  tell  us,  that,  if  society  were  better 
organized,  the  happiness  of  each  would  be  identical  with  the  happiness  of 
all.  Very  good;  but,  while  waiting  for  this  state  of  affairs  (will  it  ever  come 
about  ?),  by  what  principle  should  one  regulate  one's  life  ?  By  the  former,  or 
by  the  latter  ?  It  is,  also,  a  confusion  of  ideas  to  seek  to  find  the  principle 
of  utilitarian  philosophy  in  that  gospel  maxim,  "Do  unto  others.  .  .  ."  This 
maxim  does  not  give  us  a  motive  of  action,  but  a  criterion  for  it.  The  utilita- 
rian maxim  would  be;  Do  this,  so  that  others  may  do  it  to  you ;  while  the 
maxim  of  the  gospel  means  only;  If  you  wish  to  know  what  you  should  do  to 
others,  ask  yourself  what  you  desire  of  others.  In  this  there  is  not  a  shadow 
of  self-interest. 

2  This  theory  was  fully  explained  and  developed  in  a  remarkable  essay  by 
M.  E.  Wiart,  Des  Principes  de  la  Morale  Considere'e  Comme  Science.   Paris,  1862. 


92  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

true  meaning  of  the  word,  a  useful  thing  is  one  which  serves* 
to  procure  us  a  certain  good.  The  useful  is,  then,  only  a 
means ;  it  is  not  an  aim ;  it  is  only  a  relative  good.  Tru6 
good  is  the  very  thing  for  which  we  seek  by  means  of  utility 
Medicine  is  a  good  only  because  it  procures  health  for  us . 
money  is  a  good  only  because  it  can  serve  to  satisfy  oui 
needs ;  in  itself  it  is  indifferent.  Still  more,  a  thing  may  be 
useful  for  evil :  in  that  case,  it  cannot  be  said  that  it  is  a 
good.  The  dagger  is  very  useful  for  getting  rid  of  an  enemy : 
a  cord  is  very  useful  for  hanging  one's  self.  It  is  not  enough 
that  a  thing  is  useful  for  it  to  be  good :  we  must  know  first 
for  what  it  is  useful.  Hence  the  means  cannot  be  called 
good  in  the  strict  sense  of  this  word :  it  can  be  applied  only 
to  the  end  or  the  aim.  It  must,  then,  be  known  whether 
this  end  is  pleasure,  or  something  else.  Now,  this  difficulty 
is  just  as  great  in  respect  to  general,  as  to  individual,  utility. 
Following  out  the  principle  of  the  general  interest,  it  is 
said  that  this  is  the  happiness  of  mankind.  But  in  what 
does  happiness  consist  ?  We  must  always  come  back  to  this. 
Each  one  understands  happiness  in  his  own  way.  One  con- 
siders that  power  is  happiness,  another  thinks  riches  make 
it :  the  majority  find  it  in  the  pleasures  of  the  senses,  the 
minority  in  the  noble  and  refined  delights  of  the  heart  and 
the  mind.  If  you  leave  men  to  judge  what  is  meant  by  hap- 
piness, you  will  give  to  the  ambitious  man  power;  to  the 
avaricious  man,  gold ;  to  the  voluptuary,  the  pleasures  of  the 
senses.  The  emperors  who  gave  the  people  partem  et  cir censes, 
gave  them  what  they  asked  for,  and  what  made  them  happy. 
Frequently  slaves  do  not  ask  for  freedom :  it  would,  then,  be 
generosity  to  them  to  leave  them  slaves.  But  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  instead  of  making  each  one  a  judge  of  true 
happiness,  you  form  an  absolute  and  general  type  of  human 
happiness,  derived  from  the  essence  of  human  nature,  you 
thus  admit,  as  I  have  already  done,  that  for  each  man  there 
is  a  good  within  himself,  a  true  good,  distinct  from  pleasure, 
independent  of  general  utility,  which  is,  at  least  logically, 
anterior  to  the  common  good,  to  the  good  of  all. 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS.  93 

The  advocates  of  general  utility  have  tacitly  admitted 
these  principles.  For  example,  in  the  work  already  referred 
to,  M.  Emile  Wiart  inquires  if  slavery  is  legitimate,  if  it  is 
a  good  or  an  evil ;  and  he  reasons  thus :  — 

"For  our  own  part,  we  may  say  that  an  imperious  natural  instinct 
within  man  cries  out  in  favor  of  liberty ;  that  slavery  generally  produces 
in  the  slave  ignorance  and  degradation ;  that  it  forbids  him  to  follow  even 
the  most  sacred  instincts ;  that  in  the  master  it  produces  indolence,  pride, 
cruelty;  that  from  a  social  point  of  view  it  prevents  the  best  organization 
of  labor;  and  from  all  these  evils  we  conclude  that  slavery  is  an  evil." 

But  what  is  a  sacred  instinct?  Why  is  degradation  an 
evil  ?  Has  there  not  been  introduced  here  a  principle  differ- 
ent from  that  of  general  utility  —  that  is,  the  principle  of  the 
excellence  of  the  human  personality,  and  of  the  superiority 
of  those  faculties  which  constitute  the  man  to  those  which 
he  holds  in  common  with  the  animal?  Instead  of  taking 
the  slave  himself,  with  his  ignorant  and  perverted  con- 
sciousness, as  the  judge  of  his  own  happiness,  there  is  here 
contrasted  with  him  an  absolute  type  of  human  happiness, 
according  to  which  one  ought  not  to  degrade  one's  self,  and 
one  ought  to  sacrifice  the  lower  appetites  to  the  most  sacred 
instincts.  Is  not  this  the  same  as  distinguishing  good  from 
pleasure,  or  from  common  utility,  and  recognizing  the  fact, 
that  in  every  man,  leaving  out  of  account  society  and  gen- 
eral interest,  there  is  something  which  is  in  itself  excellent, 
and  independent  of  the  happiness  of  the  senses  ?  It  is  not 
because  a  degraded  man  is  useless  or  dangerous  to  society 
that  one  ought  not  to  degrade  one's  self;  but  it  is  because 
that  is  bad  in  itself,  even  were  there  no  society.  Robinson 
Crusoe  in  his  island  ought  not  to  get  drunk  any  more  than 
if  he  were  in  his  native  country;  and  the  moral  beauty 
of  this  immortal  romance  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  represents 
to  us,  in  the  most  striking  manner,  the  duties  of  man  to  him- 
self, even  in  solitude,  even  in  absolute  loneliness. 

The  same  author  clearly,  and  justly,  distinguishes  real 
goods  from  those  of  the  senses ;  and  he  adds,  that,  "  if  the 


94  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

philosopher  should  take  into  account  the  variety  of  sensa- 
tions, he  should  do  so  only  in  a  secondary  way."  He  says 
again ;  "  An  indolent,  worldly  life,  devoted  to  the  pleasures 
of  the  senses  taken  with  moderation,  often  gives  greater 
enjoyment,  and,  above  all,  less  suffering,  than  an  active, 
heroic,  intelligent  life,  in  which  the  ideal  of  human  life  is, 
nevertheless,  better  realized,  and  from  which  the  instincts 
of  our  nature  receive  in  reality  a  fuller  and  higher  satisfac- 
tion." Now,  of  these  two  contrasted  lives,  our  author  pre- 
fers the  second.  Here,  again,  the  criterion  of  general  utility 
is  not  invoked.  It  is,  instead,  the  principle  of  the  excellence 
of  our  faculties,  and  of  the  ideal  of  humanity,  which  consists 
in  the  full  development  of  our  highest  instincts. 

When  we  are  required  to  strive  for  the  happiness  of  men, 
we  are  then  really  required  to  procure  for  them,  not  sensi- 
tive and  apparent  goods,  but  those  which  are  real  and  true  — 
instruction,  liberty,  personal  dignity.  But  those  goods  which 
we  ought  to  procure  for  others  we  should  also  acquire  for 
ourselves.  They  are  goods  for  us,  even  before  we  can  trans- 
mit them  to  others.  Here  returns  the  question  already  sug- 
gested. How  can  we  pass  from  our  own  good  to  the  common 
good,  or,  to  use  the  language  of  the  schools,  from  our  duties 
to  ourselves  to  our  duties  towards  other  men  ? 

When  we  have  perceived  that  there  is  a  certain  number 
of  objects  which  are  desirable  for  us,  some  for  the  pleasure 
which  they  will  at  once  give  us,  others  for  their  intrinsic 
excellence,  it  is  impossible  for  us  not  to  apply  by  induction 
the  same  ideas  to  other  men  who,  as  experience  has  taught 
us,  resemble  ourselves.  It  is  only  little  by  little,  and  propor- 
tionately to  our  experience,  that  the  human  mind  accustoms 
itself  to  apply  to  others  the  idea  of  those  goods  which  we 
ourselves  desire ;  but,  in  proportion  as  the  similarity  of  na- 
ture which  unites  men  becomes  better  known  to  us,  we  learn 
to  think  that  that  which  is  a  good  for  us  is  a  good  for  them.1 

1  This  is  not  so  clear  that  one  could  believe  it  at  once.  How  long  a  time 
<did  it  take  for  men  to  learn  that  honor  is  a  good  for  the  serf  as  well  as  for  the 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS.  95 

If  I  love  life,  it  is  probable  that  others  love  it  also :  if  in- 
struction ennobles  my  soul,  if  courage  in  time  of  peril  is 
honorable  and  gives  grandeur,  this  is  just  as  true  of  others 
as  of  myself.  Simply  because  other  men  are  men,  I  neces- 
sarily affirm  of  them  all  that  I  affirm  of  myself.  Thus  by 
degrees  there  is  formed  within  the  human  mind  the  idea  of 
the  good  of  others  (to  dWorplov  dya0ov),  which  we  see  to  be 
merely  an  extension  and  a  generalization  of  our  own  good. 

In  truth,  when  by  imagination  I  transport  those  different 
goods  into  the  souls  of  other  men,  I  consider  them  as  being 
goods  for  those  men  (either  by  the  pleasure  which  they  cause, 
or  by  the  perfection  and  excellence  which  they  communi- 
cate) ;  in  this  sense  they  are  still  personal  goods :  but,  as  to 
myself,  these  goods  are  outside  of  myself,  distinct  from  those 
which  are  properly  mine  ;  and  yet  I  recognize  it  as  good  that 
other  men  should  enjoy  them,  that  they  should  be  happier 
and  more  perfect.  Here,  then,  is  a  sure  and  indubitable 
good,  which  is  not  —  at  least  not  directly — the  object  of  our 
personal  desires,  but  which  our  minds,  nevertheless,  declare 
good,  even  though  our  feelings,  in  their  egotism,  may  be 
pained  by  it. 

Moreover,  men  are  not  merely  individuals :  they  are  neces- 
sarily linked  together  by  physical  bonds  or  those  of  custom ; 
and  these  different  bonds  give  rise  to  groups,  to  bodies, 
which  we  may  consider  as  individuals :  the  family,  the  coun- 
try, human  society  in  general,  are  the  three  great  principal 
groups  under  which  all  others  may  be  ranged.  And  we 
may  apply  to  these  groups  every  thing  that  we  have  already 
applied  to  the  individual:  we  shall  then  have  the  good  of 
the  family,  the  good  of  the  country,  the  good  of  humanity ; 
and  these  different  kinds  of  good  may  always,  just  as  in  the 
case  of  the  individual,  be  measured  in  two  ways,  either  by 
pleasure  or  by  their  intrinsic  excellence. 

noble,  that  the  family  is  a  good  for  the  slave  as  well  as  for  the  master!  And 
even  now  how  many  men  there  are  who,  perceiving  that  instruction  is  a  good 
for  themselves,  are  not  willing  to  admit  that  it  would  be  so  for  the  common 
people ! 


96  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Finally,  we  may  extend  the  idea  of  good,  and,  in  fact,  we 
do  extend  it,  when,  considering  the  entire  universe  as  a 
whole,  and  in  a  certain  sense  (to  use  the  expression  of  the 
Stoics)  as  a  great  animal,  or  rather  a  living  being  (£a>ov  ™), 
we  suppose  that  the  universe  itself  has  its  good,  which  is  not 
merely  the  sum  of  all  the  goods  possessed  by  the  various 
creatures,  but  also  their  co-ordination  for  the  preserving  and 
perfecting  of  all.  We  see  it  (at  least  in  our  imagination) 
passing  from  degree  to  degree,  through  all  the  perfections 
compatible  with  its  essence,  from  movement  to  life,  from  life 
to  feeling,  from  feeling  to  intelligence  and  to  liberty,  aban- 
doning the  lower  degrees  only  when  it  has  attained  higher 
ones,  and  including  all  in  unity. 

This  is  not  all,  and  the  ultimate  development  of  the  idea 
of  good  has  not  yet  been  attained.  Since  the  goods  which 
experience  shows  us  are  distinguished  by  their  degree  of 
excellence,  and  since  some  of  them  seem  to  us  better  than 
others ;  since  beings  themselves  appear  to  us  to  be  more 
excellent  in  proportion  as  they  possess  qualities  which  are 
more  excellent  —  we  can  conceive  of  the  existence  either  of 
goods  more  excellent  than  any  which  we  already  know,  or 
of  the  same  developed  to  a  higher  degree ;  so,  too,  we  can 
imagine  creatures  more  and  more  perfect,  possessing  goods 
which  are  more  and  more  excellent ;  and  finally,  at  the  end 
of  this  series,  or  rather,  outside  even  of  this  series,  we  can 
imagine  a  primal  being,  one  who  is  necessary  and  absolute, 
who  possesses  the  fulness  of  good,  or  even,  being  himself 
the  source  of  all  that  is  good,  is  nothing  else  than  good  itself 
in  its  ultimate  and  absolute  essence. 

Thus  our  reason  can  gradually  free  the  idea  of  good  from 
every  thing  personal  and  subjective,  and  can  pass  from  our 
own  good  to  the  idea  of  human  good  in  general ;  then  to  the 
good  of  the  universe  —  that  is,  universal  order ;  and  finally, 
to  good  in  itself — that  is,  God. 

But  the  difficulty  previously  suggested  still  remains:  if 
my  speculative  reason  declares  that  there  is  a  good  outside 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS.  97 

of  myself,  why  should  my  practical  reason  command  me  to 
regard  this  good  in  itself  as  a  good  for  me?  Why  should  I 
be  required  to  conform  to  the  divine  will  because  it  is  good, 
to  imitate  God  because  he  is  the  model  of  good,  to  seek  to  pro- 
mote universal  order  because  it  is  good,  to  do  good  to  men, 
and,  above  all,  not  to  do  them  harm  ?  Will  not  our  principle 
of  perfection,  or  of  excellence,  which  has  hitherto  been  suffi- 
cient for  us,  abandon  us  here  ?  Will  not  the  principle  of  hu- 
man personality  become  simply  the  most  exalted  form  of  the 
principle  of  egotism  ? 

I  reply  that  the  principle  of  perfection  explains  our  duties 
toward  others  by  tracing  them  back  to  our  duties  toward 
ourselves.  The  instincts  of  sociability,  of  the  family,  of 
patriotism,  and  the  religious  sentiment,  are,  in  truth,  among 
our  best  and  most  excellent  faculties.  The  duty  of  per- 
fecting ourselves  will,  then,  necessarily  involve  the  duty  of 
cultivating  and  satisfying  philanthropic  and  disinterested 
inclinations,  and  consequently  of  doing  good  to  mankind,  to 
our  relatives,  to  our  friends,  of  serving  God  and  our  country. 
Such  an  explanation  would  be  specious,  but  it  does  not  seem 
satisfactory ;  for  it  would,  as  it  appears  to  me,  destroy  the 
true  essence  of  social  duties.  Mankind  should  be  an  end  for 
us,  not  a  means,  not  even  the  means  of  perfecting  ourselves : 
nature  has  not  destined  men  to  serve  us  as  a  means  for  our 
moral  grandeur,  any  more  than  for  our  pleasure  or  our  con- 
venience. There  would,  for  example,  be  something  revolting 
in  saying  that  one  ought  to  love  one's  children,  not  for  their 
own  sake,  but  because  the  paternal  sentiment  is  a  beautiful 
one ;  so  that  we  should  really  love  in  them  the  refinement  of 
our  own  spirits.  It  is  not  charity  if  we  help  poor  people 
simply  to  show  them  that  we  are  charitable,  nor  yet  if  we 
wish  that  there  should  be  poor  people  so  that  we  might  have 
an  opportunity  of  being  charitable.  True  charity  will  wish 
that  there  were  no  occasion  for  its  exercise.  To  reduce  all 
the  social  virtues  to  personal  virtues  would  be,  if  you  will, 
a  noble  egotism  ;  but  it  would  still  be  only  a  form  of  egotism. 


98  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Now,  the  moral  instinct  tells  us  that  there  is  something 
better. 

I  think,  however,  that,  if  we  carry  out  our  principle  a  little 
farther,  we  shall  be  able  to  solve  this  difficulty. 

Is  not  humanity  composed  of  individuals  possessing  certain 
common  characteristics?  Are  there,  on  the  other  hand, 
common  and  universal  substances,  which,  united  with  indi- 
viduality, are  at  bottom  the  sole  realities  ?  This  great  prob- 
lem of  metaphysics  cannot  be  discussed  here:  it  must  be 
remanded  to  the  science  to  which  it  belongs.  But  in  what- 
ever way  one  may  answer  it,  whether  one  sees  in  humanity 
a  body  of  which  individuals  form  the  members,  or,  on  the 
contrary,  an  association  of  like  beings  which  are  theoretically 
identical,  in  either  case  one  is  compelled  to  recognize  in  the 
human  community  something  more  than  a  simple  collection 
or  juxtaposition  of  particles,  a  gathering  of  atoms,  a  me- 
chanical and  purely  external  aggregation.  There  is  among 
men  an  internal  bond  of  union,  vinculum  sociale,1  which  is 
manifested  in  the  affections,  in  sympathy,  in  language,  in 
civil  society,  but  which  must  be  something  more  profound 
than  any  of  these,  imbedded,  as  it  is,  in  the  profoundest 
depths  of  the  essence  of  humanity.  It  is  this  bond  which 
Christianity  has  so  clearly  understood,  and  which  it  has  per- 
sonified in  Christ.  "There  is,"  says  St.  Paul,  "neither 
Greek  nor  Jew,  circumcision  nor  uncircumcision,  barbarian, 
Scythian,  bond  nor  free :  but  Christ  is  all,  and  in  all."  No 
moral  deduction  is  possible,  unless  we  admit  as  a  primary 
and  incontestable  fact,  which  experience  has  made  more  and 
more  clear,  but  which  was  intuitively  perceived  at  the  very 
beginning  of  human  society,  this  spiritual  community  which 
unites  men,  and  makes  of  them  a  single  body,  as  St.  Paul 
says,  or  a  single  city,  as  Zeno  expresses  it.     It  was  this  feel- 

1  Leibnitz  speaks  somewhere  of  a  vinculum  substantiale  between  the  soul 
and  body.  It  is  not  a  substance,  and  it  is  more  than  a  juxtaposition.  "Why 
may  not  substances  have  modes  of  communication  of  which  we  know  noth- 
ing ?    The  vinculum  sociale  would  belong  to  this  kind. 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS.  99 

ing  of  community,  just  beginning  to  be  conscious  of  itself, 
which  caused  those  bursts  of  applause  from  the  Romans 
when  they  heard  for  the  first  time  that  fine  line  by  Terence, 
"  Homo  sum"  etc.  All  men  are  brothers,  said  the  Christians. 
All  men  are  kinsmen,  said  the  Stoics.  In  whatever  way  you 
express  it,  all  must  come  to  this. 

Men  being  united  by  a  community  of  essence,  no  one  can 
say ;  That  which  concerns  another  is  nothing  to  me.  "  What- 
ever is  useful  to  the  hive  is  useful  to  the  bee,"  said  Marcus 
Aurelius ;  and  the  converse  is  true.  In  his  Republic  Plato 
expressed  admirably  this  union  and  fraternity  of  souls,  with- 
out which  there  could  be  no  well-ordered  republic ;  although 
he  mistook  entirely  the  way  in  which  this  perfect  unity 
could  be  attained. 

"When  good  or  evil  happens  to  any  one,  all  will  say  together,  'My 
affairs  are  prosperous;'  or, 'My  affairs  go  badly.'  .  .  .  The  greatest 
good  of  the  state  is,  that  all  its  members  should  feel  as  their  own  the 
pleasure  or  the  grief  of  an  individual,  .  .  .  just  as  when  one  has  hurt  his 
finger,  and  immediately,  in  virtue  of  the  intimate  union  established  be- 
tween the  soul  and  the  body,  the  soul  is  informed  of  it,  and  the  whole 
man  is  grieved  by  the  injury  to  one  of  his  parts :  hence  it  is  said  of  the 
entire  man,  that  he  has  been  injured  in  the  finger." 

From  this  it  follows  that  no  man  can  separate  his  own 
good  from  that  of  others.  The  good  of  another  is  my  own 
good,  for  nothing  human  is  foreign  to  me. 

True  human  perfection,  the  ideal  excellence  of  human 
nature,  consists  in  forgetting  one's  self  in  others.  The  per- 
fect type  of  this  forgetfulness  of  self  in  another  is  maternal 
love.  The  mother  forgets  herself  so  far  as  to  forget  that 
there  is  any  thing  beautiful  and  refined  in  love  itself.  The 
mother  who  suffers  the  pangs  of  death  for  her  beloved  child, 
the  mater  dolorosa,  does  not  know  that  the  pangs  she  feels 
are  sublime,  and  that  they  are  the  ornament  of  the  maternal 
heart.  She  suffers  divinely;  and  this  suffering  for  another 
in  another,  this  suffering  which  forgets  itself,  is  the  divine 


100  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

seal  of  a  nature  which  belongs,  not  merely  to  the  world  of 
the  senses,  but  also  to  the  world  of  the  soul  and  the  spirit. 
Thus,  the  hero  who  sacrifices  himself  for  his  country,  the 
friend  who  sacrifices  himself  for  his  friend,  attain  perfection 
only  when  they  do  not  even  know  that  they  are  heroes.  Far 
from  seeing  in  other  men  merely  the  instruments  or  the 
occasions  for  their  own  moral  grandeur,  they  attain  this  very 
grandeur  only  on  condition  of  giving  themselves  up  entirely, 
and  forgetting  their  grandeur.  It  is  because  they  have  re- 
garded humanity  as  an  end  in  itself,  and  not  as  a  means, 
that  they  themselves  have  risen  to  the  highest  point  of 
which  human  nature  is  capable.  Thus  the  principle  of  ex- 
cellence is  not  only  compatible  with  that  of  the  community 
of  essence,  but  it  is  perfected  by  this,  and  finds  in  it  its 
necessary  complement. 

Kant  labored  to  deduce  social  duties,  the  duties  of  action 
and  of  benevolence,  which  he  calls  meritorious  or  imperfect 
duties,  from  the  idea  of  human  personality :  his  statement  is 
that  they  harmonize  with  the  idea  of  the  person,  or  of  human- 
ity, considered  as  an  end  in  itself.  But  if  these  duties 
merely  harmonize,  then  they  simply  do  not  disagree  with  it, 
and  whoever  pleases  may  fulfil  them.  It  does  not  follow 
that  he  ought  to  do  so.  It  seems  to  follow  that  the  duties 
of  affection  and  of  benevolence  are  absolutely  free,  and  that 
they  depend  exclusively  on  the  will  of  each  person.  Now, 
according  to  my  theory,  devotion  to  mankind  does  not 
merely  harmonize  with  humanity,  but  completes  and  perfects 
the  idea  of  it. 

There  are,  then,  two  shoals  which  we  must  avoid  in  phi- 
losophy as  well  as  in  politics  —  the  absorption  of  the  Ego  in 
humanity,  and  of  humanity  in  the  Ego. 

If,  on  the  one  hand,  we  accept,  as  a  supreme  and  exclusive 
principle,  the  community  of  essence  or  fraternity,  the  indi- 
vidual will  no  longer  be  any  thing  but  the  instrument  for 
the  happiness  of  others.  He  will  be  worth  nothing  by  and 
for  himself ;  he  ought  not  to  have,  in  his  own  estimation,  any 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS.  101 

true  and  absolute  value ;  his  value  will  be  merely  in  direct- 
proportion  to  the  use  which  others  make  of  it.  Yet  duty  to 
others  should  never  be  carried  so  far  as  to  sacrifice  to  them 
personal  dignity.  Andrew  Fletcher  said  that  he  would  give 
his  life  for  his  country,  but  that  he  would  not  commit  an 
ignoble  action  to  save  her.  One  may  excuse,  and  even  in 
an  emergency  admire,  while  condemning,  such  an  act  as  that 
related  in  The  Spy,  by  Cooper ;  but  one  should  not  lay  down 
a  principle  which  will  justify  it  beforehand.  Humanity  is 
sacred  only  because  man  is  so  already.  If  we  do  not  begin 
by  laying  down  at  the  outset  the  principle  of  excellence, 
whose  highest  formula  is  that  of  a  free  personality,  we  cannot 
find  in  others,  any  more  than  in  ourselves,  this  inviolable  per- 
sonality to  which  we  owe  respect.  From  this  stand-point,  one 
might  criticise  the  tendency  of  theologians  to  sacrifice  human 
rights,  and  even  human  dignity,  to  charity ;  to  consider  alms- 
giving as  the  ideal  of  human  virtue,  the  poor  as  instruments 
of  salvation  for  the  rich;  finally,  to  make  beggary  itself 
almost  a  virtue.  For  this  reason  I  cannot  altogether  approve 
Father  Gratry's  formula,  assistance  given  by  every  being  to 
every  being.1  This  phrase,  besides  being  too  vague  and  too 
general,  has  the  defect  of  regarding  nothing  in  beings  but 
their  respective  weaknesses.  In  morals,  one  should  not  take 
the  point  of  view  of  weakness,  but  that  of  strength.  If 
every  creature  is  weak,  I  myself,  being  a  creature,  am  also 
weak,  and  I  have  as  much  need  of  help  as  the  others.  But 
how  can  I  do  for  others  what  I  have  not  the  strength  to  do 
for  myself?  There  would  also  be  danger  that  some  of  the 
maxims  of  the  gospel  would  develop  an  enervating  and 
effeminate  sensibility,  had  not  the  Church,  with  its  practical 
good  sense,  wisely  modified  their  interpretation. 

Thus  we  see  man's  double  essence :  he  is  at  once  an  indi- 
vidual and  a  member  of  the  human  race.     He  is  at  once  a 

I  See  the  fine  work  Sources.  I  will  remark  here,  that  this  formula  had 
been  previously  suggested  by  M.  Oudot,  in  his  work  entitled,  Science  et  Con- 
science du  Devoir.    Paris,  1868. 


102  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

whole  and  a  part  of  a  whole.  Being  himself  a  whole,  he 
ought  not  to  be  utterly  sacrificed  to  the  whole  of  which 
he  makes  a  part ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  ought  not  to 
make  himself  the  centre  of  the  whole  of  which  he  is  a  part. 
He  should  not  be  a  means  in  relation  to  others,  nor  should 
others  be  a  means  in  relation  to  him.  The  pagan  principle 
of  strength  (virtus'),  and  the  Christian  principle  of  charity, 
must  be  united  and  reconciled  in  the  idea  of  human  excel- 
lence, which  is  composed  of  both. 

Is  such  a  philosophy  accused  of  being  a  philosophy  of  pride 
and  of  self-love,  and  of  making  man  himself  the  end  of  man? 
It  is,  some  say,  a  carnal  and  human  philosophy,  which  is 
based  upon  honor,  not  upon  duty.  Why  should  one  speak 
the  truth?  Is  it  because  the  truth  is  beautiful?  No,  but 
because  it  is  becoming  to  an  honorable  man,  a  fine  character, 
to  speak  the  truth.  Why  love  what  is  beautiful?  Is  it 
because  the  beautiful  is  lovable  ?  No,  but  because  love  of 
beautiful  things  is  a  part  of  a  refined  and  elevated  nature. 
Why  respect  and  protect  weakness?  Is  it  because  weak 
beings  are  in  themselves  worthy  of  compassion?  No,  but 
because  it  is  noble  and  beautiful  for  a  strong  man  to  put 
himself  at  the  service  of  the  weak.  Thus  this  philosophy 
has  no  reason  and  no  motive  but  the  satisfaction  of  contem- 
plating one's  self  in  a  fair  mirror.  It  is  a  splendid  philoso- 
phy, but  one  corrupted  by  a  secret  vice  —  splendida  vitia. 

I  repeat,  all  these  objections  apply  to  the  principle  of 
excellence  only  when  it  is  misunderstood.  In  truth,  to  be 
vain  of  one's  own  refinement  and  one's  own  greatness  is  by 
no  means  the  highest  degree  of  human  excellence ;  to  see,  in 
the  true  and  the  beautiful,  only  the  means  of  aggrandizing 
ourselves  in  our  own  eyes,  is  not  the  ideal  for  our  nature. 
A  man  who  really  loves  truth,  forgets  himself  in  the  presence 
of  truth :  a  man  who  really  loves  nature,  forgets  himself  in 
the  presence  of  nature.  Can  one  imagine  a  really  noble  soul, 
which,  in  the  presence  of  some  grand  natural  object,  like  the 
ocean  or  Mont  Blanc,  should  say  to  itself,  "  I  am  sublime," 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS.  103 

instead  of  saying,  "  That  is  sublime  "  ?  Can  one  imagine  a 
scientific  man  who,  in  the  glow  of  discovery,  instead  of  being 
utterly  absorbed  in  his  idea,  should  say  to  himself,  "How 
great  I  am"?  No:  it  is  at  once  a  gift  and  a  mystery  of 
human  nature,  that  in  it  the  personal  is  constantly  brought 
into  relation  with  the  impersonal ;  in  a  certain  sense  this  is 
the  union  of  the  two  natures,  the  divine  and  the  human; 
and  its  highest  personality  consists,  not  in  losing  and  in 
sacrificing  this  personality,  but  in  forgetting  it  entirely. 

This  participation  of  the  Ego  in  something  outside  of  itself 
does  not  end  with  humanity,  with  nature,  nor  even  with  the 
true  and  the  beautiful ;  but  it  extends  still  farther,  —  on  to 
the  very  principle  of  humanity  and  of  nature,  on  to  the  living 
and  absolute  type  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  on  to  the 
good  in  its  very  essence,  on  to  God.  Human  nature  is  capa- 
ble of  rising  up  to  the  love  of  God ;  and  the  greatest  philoso- 
phers, as  well  as  theologians  —  Plato,  Malebranche,  Fdnelon, 
Spinoza  —  regarded  the  idea  of  God,  and  love  for  him,  as 
the  corner-stone  of  morality.  Aristotle  himself,  though  so 
engrossed  with  the  consideration  of  human  good,  regards 
contemplation  of  the  divine  as  the  ideal  of  the  highest  activ- 
ity, and  turns  a  deaf  ear  to  those  who  say ;  "  Mortals,  do  not 
concern  yourselves  with  things  immortal." 

It  is  this  participation  in  the  divine  and  the  absolute  which 
gives  to  the  human  being  an  absolute  value.  If  there  were 
nothing  absolute  in  the  world,  how  could  there  be  any  being 
endowed  with  a  holy  and  sacred  character  ?  Do  you  say  that 
the  human  person  is  inviolable  ?  What  is  this  inviolability 
if  it  is  not  holiness  itself — something  which  we  have  no 
right  to  humiliate,  nor  to  do  violence  to,  nor  to  bend  to  our 
desires,  nor  to  persecute  —  something  which  inspires  respect? 
And  how  can  you  feel  respect  for  a  thing  which  has  only  a 
transitory,  accidental,  relative  value,  for  a  mere  phenomenon, 
which  begins  and  passes  away?  That  part  of  man  which 
has  an  absolute  value  surely  cannot  be  his  physical  being, 
limited  in  space  and  time,  subject  to  so  many  weaknesses,  to 


104  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

so  many  sufferings,  which  has  so  many  bonds  of  union  with 
the  animal  world,  and  so  many  analogies  to  it  ?  It  cannot  he 
such  and  such  an  individual,  Peter  or  Paul,  who  is  born 
to-day,  and  will  die  to-morrow?  No:  it  is  humanity  in 
general,  it  is  the  human  essence ;  it  is  something  which  does 
not  pass  by,  which  does  not  die  when  individuals  pass  away 
and  die  —  it  is  something  absolute. 

In  this  sense  the  Stoics  are  right  in  saying  that  man  is  a 
god :  that  which  they  called  this  indwelling  god  is  this  human 
essence,  of  which  the  individual  is  merely  the  depositary, 
which  he  ought  to  preserve  sacred  and  inviolate  as  a  holy 
trust.  This  respect  for  human  personality  is  called  by 
religious  philosophy,  holiness:  secular  philosophy  calls  it 
honor.  Under  widely  differing  forms  the  same  principle 
animates  each:  it  is  the  idea  of  something  sacred  within  us 
which  we  should  neither  degrade  nor  soil.  One  party  re- 
gards mainly  its  purity:  the  other  considers  its  strength. 
Angelic  innocence  is  the  ideal  of  the  one :  civil  and  military 
pride  is  that  of  the  other.  The  former  regard  contemplation 
as  the  best  of  activities :  the  latter  prefer  action.  The  former, 
in  their  fear  of  making  the  individual  vain,  sometimes  abase 
a  little  too  much  the  part  of  personality  itself :  the  latter,  in 
their  fear  of  diminishing  the  importance  of  the  person,  some- 
times exalt  the  individual  a  little  too  much.  The  duty  of 
practical  morality  is  to  determine  with  precision  what  are 
the  true  duties  of  human  personality.  But  it  is  evident,  that, 
within  the  individual  and  actual  man,  there  is  a  true  and 
ideal  man,  humanity  in  itself,  which  we  should  not  suffer  to 
be  corrupted,  either  by  our  own  fault  or  by  that  of  others  : 
this  is  the  very  fundamental  idea  of  morality.  Again  I  ask, 
How  would  this  be  possible  if  human  nature  did  not  partake 
of  the  absolute  and  the  infinite  ? 

But  this  absolute  which  is  manifested  in  humanity  is  not 
humanity  itself;  for  the  human  species,  like  all  species,  has 
had  a  beginning,  may  perhaps  have  an  end,  and,  taken  as  a 
whole,  is  simply  a  great  phenomenon.     Can  it  be  that  that 


IMPERSONAL  GOODS. 


105 


within  it  which  is  inviolable,  that  element  of  its  essence 
which  is  sacred  and  divine,  was  born  one  day  to  perish  in 
another?  Can  one  imagine  any  combination  whatever  of 
phenomena  which  could  of  itself  rise  to  the  dignity  of  a 
sacred  and  inviolable  thing  (homo  res  sacra  homini')?  No: 
humanity  participates  in  the  absolute,  but  it  is  not  the  abso- 
lute; it  lives,  moves,  and  breathes  in  God,  but  it  is  not 
God. 


fC^t- 


UNIVERSITY 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  TRUE,  THE  GOOD,  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

T3EFORE  carrying  our  researches  into  the  nature  of  good 
-*— '  up  to  the  point  at  which  they  must  stop,  that  is  to  say, 
up  to  the  absolute  good,  let  us  once  more  consider  this  idea 
in  its  relations  to  those  which  lie  near  it,  especially  the  ideas 
of  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  which  have  marked  analogies 
and  profound  affinities  with  it. 

The  philosopher  who  has  most  emphatically  maintained 
the  identity  of  the  true  and  the  good  is  Wpllaston.  Accord- 
ing to  him,  virtue  consists  simply  in  the  affirmation  of  the 
truth;  vice,  in  the  negation  of  the  truth.  That  is  plain 
enough  in  regard  to  truth  and  falsehood ;  but  it  is  all  the 
same,  according  to  him,  in  every  thing  else.  For  example, 
what  is  it  to  appropriate  to  ourselves  the  property  of  an- 
other ?  It  is  to  affirm  that  what  does  not  belong  to  us  does 
belong  to  us.  What  is  it  to  break  into  a  warehouse  ?  It  is 
to  try,  contrary  to  the  nature  of  things,  to  use  a  warehouse 
as  common  property.  What  is  it  to  attempt  the  life  of 
another  ?  It  is  to  affirm  that  the  life  of  another  is  in  our 
possession,  as  a  thing  belongs  to  its  master.  What  is  it  to 
betray  one's  country  ?  It  is  to  treat  one's  country  as  if  it 
were  not  one's  country.  What  is  ingratitude?  It  is  the 
denial  of  a  benefit,  etc.  In  a  word,  it  will  always  be  seen 
that  vice  is  the  negation  of  a  truth :  and,  as  this  negation 
must  be  conscious  of  itself  in  order  to  be  culpable,  it  is  clear 
that  all  kinds  of  vice  may  be  traced  back  to  falsehood ;  for 
knowingly  to  affirm  what  one  knows  to  be  false  is  to  lie.  If 
it  be  now  asked  why  falsehood  is  a  vice,  and  why  truth  is  a 

106 


THE  TRUE,  THE   GOOD,  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL.  107 

virtue;  it  is  because  falsehood  desires  the  opposite  of  that 
which  is;  it  desires  that  what  is  false  should  be  true,  and 
that  what  is  true  should  be  false ;  it  is,  then,  absurd  in  the 
logical  meaning  of  this  word.  Vice,  then,  is  simply  an  ab- 
surdity. Virtue,  on  the  contrary,  being  conformity  to  truth, 
is  nothing  else  than  reason.  Now,  it  is  according  to  the  na- 
ture of  things  that  reason  should  be  reasonable.  Virtue 
is,  then,  simply  conformity  with  the  nature  of  things.  This 
is  evidently  the  same  point  of  view  as  that  taken  by  the  phi- 
losophy of  Clarke,  of  Cudworth,  and  even  of  Montesquieu 
— in  a  word,  of  all  those  philosophers  who  regard  moral 
verities  simply  as  eternal  and  necessary  relations,  conform- 
able to  the  nature  of  things. 

This  theory  is  true,  but  only  in  a  vague  and  general  way : 
it  ceases  to  be  so  as  soon  as  one  attempts  to  define  its  terms 
exactly.  It  is  quite  certain  that  moral  verities  are  truths, 
but  it  does  not  follow  that  the  good  must  be  the  true. 

Truth  may  be  understood  in  two  ways  —  in  an  objective 
and  in  a  subjective  sense.  Objectively,  truth  is  being  itself : 
it  is  the  necessary  and  essential  relation  of  things,  which 
would  continue  to  be  what  it  is  even  if  I  were  not  present  to 
form  a  thought  of  it.  Subjectively,  truth  is  the  conformity 
of  the  thought  to  its  object.  Now,  neither  in  its  subjective, 
nor  in  its  objective,  sense,  is  truth  identical  with  good. 

The  good,  like  the  true,  may  also  be  understood  in  two 
senses  —  one  objective,  the  other  subjective.  Objectively, 
the  good  is  the  character,  based  upon  the  essence  of  things, 
which  imposes  an  obligatory  law  upon  the  moral  agent. 
Subjectively,  good  is  the  conformity  of  the  will  to  this 
obligatory  law :  it  is,  according  to  Kant's  definition,  the 
good  will. 

Now,  the  objective  good,  or  good  in  itself,  is  not  the  same 
as  the  objective  true,  that  is  to  say,  being  itself;  and  the 
subjective  good,  or  moral  good,  is  not  the  same  as  the  sub- 
jectively true,  or  the  logically  true. 

Subjectively,  the  true  is  the  conformity  of  the  thought 


108  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

with  its  object:  now,  good,  considered  subjectively,  is  the 
conformity  of  the  will  with  its  object.  The  true  concerns 
only  the  understanding :  the  good  concerns  the  will.  The 
perception  of  truth,  as  such,  when  it  appears,  is  inevitable : 
moral  action  —  that  is,  the  conformity  of  action  with  the  law 
—  is  not  inevitable.  I  cannot  wish  that  what  is  true  should 
be  false,  nor  that  what  is  false  should  be  true ;  I  cannot  wish 
that  two  and  two  would  make  five,  when  my  reason  shows 
me  that  their  sum  is  four ;  but  I  can  wish  that  my  actions 
should  be  conformed,  or  not  conformed,  to  what  my  reason 
tells  me  is  true.  I  do  not  reject  those  moral  laws  which 
restrain  my  free  will  so  far  as  their  truth  is  concerned:  I 
reject  them  so  far  as  they  are  contrary  to  my  interests. 
Undoubtedly,  criminal  actions  are  always  accompanied  by 
more  or  less  falsehood ;  but,  as  regards  their  nature,  they  are 
not  lies.  If  I  rob  a  warehouse,  I  deny  that  it  is  a  ware- 
house, for  fear  lest  I  may  be  compelled  to  make  restoration ; 
but  this  is  only  an  accidental  accompaniment  of  the  act,  it  is 
not  its  basis ;  for  if  I  had  no  fear,  either  of  punishment  or  of 
disgrace,  it  would  matter  little  to  me  whether  the  warehouse 
were  known  to  be  one,  provided  I  could  get  possession  of 
the  contents.  The  robber  who  takes  a  watch,  does  not  by 
this  act  affirm  that  the  watch  belongs  to  him":  what  he 
affirms  is,  that  he  wishes  to  get  the  good  of  it ;  this  is  all 
that  he  asks.  The  intrinsic  truth  of  the  proposition  matters 
little  to  him.  So,  too,  the  homicide  affirms  nothing  at  all, 
unless  it  be  that  his  revenge  or  his  interest  require  the  death 
of  a  man :  now,  this  is  perfectly  true.  A  lie  itself  is  not 
always  an  effort  and  rebellion  against  the  truth:  the  liar 
does  not  wish  that  the  truth  should  not  be  the  truth.  It 
may  be  what  it  pleases :  he  does  not  care,  provided  he  can 
make  others  believe  what  he  chooses.  Undoubtedly  there 
are  cases  in  which  one  hates  the  truth,  as  being  contrary  to 
one's  interests,  and  in  which  one  tries  to  stifle  and  falsify  it, 
even  in  ones  own  eyes ;  and  this  is  what  is  called  lying  to 
one's  self;  but  this  is  only  a  special  case  —  it  is  not  so  in  all 


THE  TRUE,  THE  GOOD,  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL.  109 

kinds  of  lies.  Frequently,  on  the  contrary,  the  liar  conceals 
a  truth  which  is  injurious  to  others,  and  favorable  to  him- 
self : *  in  such  a  case  he  would  be  greatly  annoyed  if  this 
truth  were  not  a  truth. 

Furthermore,  to  confound  the  good  and  the  true  would 
lead  to  the  negation  of  morality,  rather  than  to  its  establish- 
ment. Actions  regarded  as  criminal  do,  in  reality,  represent 
truths,  just  as  truly  as  do  honorable  and  generous  actions. 
That  a  man  can  dispose  of  the  lives  of  his  fellow-creatures 
because  of  his  strength  and  his  passions,  is  a  perfectly  true 
proposition.  It  is  true  that  I  can  appropriate  the  property 
of  others :  it  is  true  that  I  can  make  use  of  words  to  conceal 
my  thoughts.  These  propositions  are  just  as  true  as  are  the 
converse  ones.  If  I  did  not  already  know  that  it  is  good  to 
love  one's  fellows,  to  respect  their  lives  and  their  property, 
to  keep  one's  word,  to  cultivate  one's  mind,  why  should  I  be 
under  any  obligation  to  obey  this  kind  of  truths  rather  than 
the  opposite  ones  ?  To  affirm  that  the  one  sort  are  neces- 
sary, and  the  other  contingent,  truths,  is  to  assume  the 
point  in  question.  Unless  one  believes  that  there  is  some- 
thing more  excellent  in  the  life  of  man  than  the  satisfaction 
of  his  inclinations,  in  truth  than  in  falsehood,  in  thought 
than  in  sensual  appetite,  it  would  no  longer  be  true  in  a 
necessary  way  that  one  should  respect  human  life,  keep  one's 
word,  ennoble  one's  thoughts,  etc.  It  would,  instead,  be 
permissible  to  choose  between  these  two  classes  of  contra- 
dictory truths,  according  as  the  interests  or  the  feelings  of 
each  one  might  incline  him. 

If,  now,  we  consider  objective^goedT  as  Clarke  has  done,     aW^u 
we  shall  see  that  neither  is  this  identical  with  good. 

Undoubtedly,  by  the  very  fact  that  I  distinguish  good  from 
pleasure,  and  even  that  I  distinguish  it  from  the  moral  law 
or  from  duty,  as  a  cause  from  its  effect,  by  the  very  fact  that 
I  assign  to  it  an  objective  basis  even  before  knowing  in  what 
it  consists,  I  admit  that  it  has  its  root  in  the  nature  of  things 

1  For  example,  a  thief  who  lies. 


110  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

and  in  their  necessary  relations :  hence  I  recognize  that  it  is 
something  true,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  it  is  the  true.  If. 
it  were  so,  then  these  two  ideas  would  be  equivalent,  and 
could  always  be  interchanged,  which  is  not  the  case. 

Mathematical  truths  are  truths,  yet  they  form  no  part  of 
what  is  called  the  good :  they  lay  no  commands  upon  the 
will.  They  undoubtedly  furnish  some  practical  rules;  for 
example,  a  person  who  wishes  to  attain  a  certain  end  will 
learn  of  the  geometricians  to  make  use  of  certain  means. 
But,  if  practice  shows  us  a  more  convenient  method,  we 
are  under  no  obligation  to  follow  the  rules  of  geometry. 
Besides,  there  are  in  the  sciences  a  number  of  abstract  truths 
which  have  no  practical  application,  and  which  are  purely 
objects  of  contemplation.  Thus  truth,  so  far  as  it  is  purely 
speculative,  and  involves  no  necessity  for  action,  is  essen- 
tially distinct  from  the  good. 

Still  further,  there  are  truths  which  have  an  inevitable 
practical  application,  which,  nevertheless,  do  not  become 
moral  truths.  For  example,  the  laws  of  logic  are  not  merely 
speculative  laws,  but  they  are  also  practical  laws,  and  laws 
which  are  practically  necessary.  Thus,  any  one  who  wishes 
to  reason  correctly,  must  reason  according  to  the  laws  of 
syllogism.  But  the  laws  of  logic  are  perfectly  distinct  from 
moral  laws.  The  former  are  absolutely  necessary :  the 
second  have  only  a  relative  necessity.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  can  always  free  myself  from  moral  laws,  even  when  I 
recognize  them  as  such  :  I  cannot  throw  off  the  laws  of 
logic.  I  cannot,  for  example,  make  a  syllogism  with  four 
terms ;  that  is  absolutely  impossible  for  me ;  if  my  lips  were 
to  do  it,  my  mind  would  not.  In  such  a  case  I  deceive 
others,  but  not  myself ;  it  is  a  lie,  not  an  error ;  thus  it  is  the 
moral  law,  not  the  law  of  logic,  that  is  violated. 

The  essential  character  of  the  good,  then,  as  compared 
with  the  true,  is  that  it  is  obligatory ;  that  is,  it  commands  the 
will  without  constraining  it.  The  true,  by  itself  alone,  has 
not  this  character ;  for  either  it  is  perceived  by  the  under- 


THE  TRUE,  THE  GOOD,  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL.  Ill 

standing,  and  its  affirmation  is  absolutely  necessary,  or  it  is 
not  thus  perceived,  and  its  affirmation  is  impossible.  This 
does  not  exclude  the  possibility  of  voluntary  or  semi-volun- 
tary errors ;  but,  in  proportion  as  the  error  is  voluntary,  it  is 
a  sin ;  and  in  this  case  it  is  a  shortcoming  in  morality  and 
not  in  logic,  a  violation  of  the  good,  not  of  the  true. 

Unquestionably,  the  order  of  relations  which  I  call  the 
good,  forms  a  part  of  the  essence  of  things,  and  in  this  way 
of  truth  also ;  but  this  is  only  from  one  point  of  view ;  it  is 
not  the  whole.  Once  more,  moral  truths  are  truths :  it  does 
not  follow  that  the  good  is  equivalent  to  the  truth.  We  must 
still  inquire  why  certain  truths  involve  moral  obligation,  and 
others  do  not ;  why  some  are  practical,  and  others  specula- 
tive. Now,  this  character  which  distinguishes  one  from 
another  is  precisely  the  good:  it  cannot,  then,  be  con- 
founded with  the  true. 

If  there  were  in  nature  no  relations  but  those  of  quantity 
(relations  of  the  whole  to  a  part),  or  of  the  general  to  the 
special  (orders  and  species,  laws  and  phenomena),  there 
would  be  mathematical,  logical,  and  physical  sciences,  but 
there  would  be  no  moral  science.  Moral  science,  as  Male- 
branche  has  said,  implies  that  there  are  between  things  rela- 
tions of  perfection,  of  dignity,  and  of  excellence :  it  is  because 
one  thing  is  better  than  another  that  it  is  our  duty  to  prefer 
it.  Good,  then,  implies  that  there  is,  between  things  or 
attributes,  an  order  of  quality  distinct  from  the  order  of 
quantity  (whether  mathematical  or  logical).  If  you  suppress 
the  quality  of  things,  you  suppress  all  that  renders  one  more 
estimable  than  another.  Aside  from  that,  the  understanding 
is  always  determined  by  the  true,  but  the  will  has  no  other 
law  than  pleasure.  If  you  refuse  to  accept  an  objective  hie- 
rarchy of  goods,  nothing  remains  but  a  subjective  scale  of 
pleasures ;  and  consequently,  as  I  remarked  above,  all  moral 
science  disappears.  Truth  in  general  comprises,  then,  all 
kinds  of  objective  relations :  good  concerns  only  relations  of 
perfection. 


112  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Thus  the  good  will  always  be  distinguished  from  the  true, 
whether  considered  subjectively  or  objectively.  Can  it,  then, 
be  said  that  the  good  and  the  true  have  not  mutual  and  pro- 
found affinities,  or  even  that  they  do  not  flow  from  a  common 
source  ?  We  cannot  venture  to  affirm  this.  The  good  and 
the  true,  which  are  separate  to  human  vision,  must  mingle 
at  their  source.  From  the  same  origin  come  the  being  and 
the  goodness  of  things :  perhaps,  even,  Plato  saw  truly  when 
he  suggested  that  good  itself  is  the  essence  of  truth  and  of 
being  —  greatly  surpassing  them,  he  says,  in  dignity  and  in 
power.  Perhaps,  also,  this  is  what  Descartes  meant  when 
he  said  that  God  is  the  author  of  the  eternal  verities.  But 
it  would  be  impossible  to  carry  our  inquiries  into  the  nature 
of  good  so  high  and  so  far  without  confounding  morals  with 
metaphysics,  and,  while  I  do  not  wish  to  make  one  abso- 
lutely independent  of  the  other,  I  think  that  they  should  be 
distinct. 

We  have  just  distinguished  the  good  from  the  true.  Let 
us  try  to  distinguish  the  beautiful  from  the  good. 

The  kinship  of  the  beautiful  and  of  the  good  appears  at 
every  turn  in  the  Grecian  philosophy.  The  term  koXov  often 
takes  the  place  of  ayaObv ;  and  they  are  even  united  in  a  beau- 
tiful word,  which  is  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  Grecian 
language  —  to  KaXoKayaObv,  the  beautiful  and  the  good  united  by 
an  indissoluble  bond.  In  the  Gorgias,  Plato,  in  trying  to 
distinguish  good  from  pleasure,  says ;  "  It  is  more  beautiful 
(koAXioi/)  to  suffer  an  injustice  than  to  commit  one."  The 
words  which  Plato  uses  in  describing  a  well-regulated  soul 
are  all  borrowed  from  aesthetics — evpvfyuo,  dp/*Wa,  etc.  The 
wise  man  is  a  musician  (6  <ro</>o?  /aovo-ikos)  :  human  life  has 
need  of  number  (dpt^w).  Reciprocally,  with  Plato  and  with 
Socrates,  the  beautiful  is  identical  with  the  good.  In  a  word, 
while  he  has  never  expressly  affirmed  the  identity  of  the  two 
ideas,  Plato  constantly  uses  one  for  the  other,  and  by  impli- 
cation makes  them  one  and  the  same. 

The  same  assimilation  of  the  beautiful  and  the  good  is 


THE  TRUE,  THE  GOOD,  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL.  113 

found  in  the  school  of  the  Stoics.  Recall  the  celebrated 
sorites  of  Chrysippus :  "  The  good  is  desirable ;  the  desirable 
is  lovely;  that  which  is  lovely  is  worthy  of  praise;  that 
which  is  worthy  of  praise  is  beautiful"  l  By  these  interme- 
diaries, somewhat  arbitrarily  chosen,  he  passes  from  the  good 
to  the  beautiful,  as  to  an  idea  equivalent  to  the  first.  Thus 
the  idea  of  virtue  held  by  the  Stoics,  precisely  like  that  of 
Plato  in  principle,  comes  back  to  the  idea  of  harmony,  of 
unity,  of  being  in  unison  with  one's  self  (constantia,  consen- 
sus, compositio'). 

Among  the  moderns,  the  assimilation  of  the  beautiful  with 
the  good  is  much  rarer  than  among  the  ancients.  This  is 
due  mainly  to  Christianity,  which,  arising  at  first  chiefly  as 
a  protest  against  the  visible  life,  against  nature,  necessarily 
regarded  the  beautiful  as  an  inferior  idea,  outside  of  the 
circle  of  morals.  Moreover,  Christianity,  in  making  suffer- 
ing a  part  even  of  the  idea  of  moral  perfection,  since  God 
himself  wept  and  died,  assailed  that  character  of  grace  and 
harmony  which  all  the  Greeks,  even  the  Stoics,  considered 
as  essential  to  virtue.  Furthermore,  the  beautiful  has,  as  a 
general  thing,  attracted  little  attention  from  philosophers 
up  to  the  time  of  Kant.  Since  that  time,  German  philoso- 
phy has  always  attached  great  importance  to  the  philosophy 
of  the  beautiful ;  and  an  entire  school,  that  of  Herbart,  makes 
morals  a  branch  of  aesthetics.  As  we  have  already  seen,2 
this  was  the  tendency  of  Leibnitz'  philosophy  also. 

The  same  objection  which  arises  to  the  identification  of 
the  true  and  the  good,  has  equal  force  against  the  confusion 
of  the  true  and  the  beautiful ;  for  after  mentioning  the  analo- 
gies, which  no  one  contests,  we  must  next  point  out  the  dif- 
ferences —  that  is  to  say,  draw  the  distinction  —  between  the 
two.  In  fact,  even  if  the  true  and  the  good  should  be  iden- 
tical in  essence,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  logic  is  not  moral 

*  Plutarch.  StOlC.  Rep.  ch.  13:  to  ayadbv  aiperbv'  to  S'aiperov  apearbv'  to  S'apetT' 
rbv  ivaivtrov'  to  6'enaiverov  koXov. 

a  P.  90. 


114  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

science.  Similarly,  if  the  good  were  identical  with  the  beau- 
tiful, moral  science  would  not  be  aesthetics.  Herbart  himself, 
after  having  united  the  two,  immediately  separates  them  as 
everybody  else  does,  and  treats  aesthetics  as  a  separate  science. 
There  is,  then,  a  certain  point  of  view  where  the  good  may  be 
distinguished  from  the  beautiful,  as  there  is  another  where 
it  may  be  distinguished  from  the  true.  Now,  it  is  just  pre- 
cisely that  point  of  view  which  makes  of  good  a  special 
object,  and  which  it  is  the  aim  of  moral  science  to  establish. 

I  am  willing  to  grant  figuratively  that  good  is  the  beauty 
of  the  soul :  thus  Plato,  using  another  metaphor,  says  that 
good  is  the  health  of  the  soul.  But  one  does  not  conclude 
from  this  that  moral  science  is  a  part  of  medicine,  and  one 
should  not  conclude  from  the  first  figure  that  it  is  a  part  of 
aesthetics. 

The  aesthetic  sentiment  is  essentially  different  from  the 
moral  sentiment.  The  aesthetic  sentiment  exists  in  the' pres- 
ence of  the  beautiful  when  it  lays  no  obligation  upon  our 
responsibility.  If  the  idea  of  moral  obligation  rises  within 
us,  the  aesthetic  sentiment  disappears.  It  was  a  profound 
remark  made  by  Schiller,  that,  in  the  theatre,  devotion,  hero- 
ism, noble  sentiments,  in  a  word,  high  morality,  touch  and 
delight  us,  only  because  we  do  not  feel  obliged  to  realize 
them.  Suppose,  on  the  contrary,  that  we  perceive  in  the 
poet  the  intention  of  reading  us  a  lesson  :  all  aesthetic  pleas- 
ure disappears ;  conscience  speaks  in  its  stead ;  and  the  pleas- 
urable sentiment  which  filled  us  a  moment  before  is  succeeded 
by  the  noble,  but  painful,  feeling  of  responsibility. 

Thus  the  good  is  distinguished  from  the  beautiful,  at  least 
subjectively,  by  the  different  feelings  which  each  arouses,  and 
by  the  idea  of  responsibility  and  obligation  which  is  attached 
to  one,  and  is  lacking  in  the  other.  In  truth,  after  all  the 
most  recent  philosophic  investigations  of  this  difficult  sub- 
ject, there  appears  to  be  agreement  as  to  the  principle  that 
the  beautiful  is  the  union  of  the  intellectual  and  the  sensi- 
tive, of  the  general  and  of  the  individual;  it  is  the  idea 


THE  TRUE,  THE  GOOD,  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL.     115 

manifested  in  matter ;  or,  as  Jouffroy  expresses  it,  it  is  the 
invisible  expressed  by  the  visible.  These  definitions  are  all 
identical,  and  all  show  us  that  the  sensuous  element  is  one  of 
the  necessary  and  essential  conditions  of  the  beautiful.  This 
is  the  reason  why  the  beautiful  is  not  absolutely  absolute, 
like  the  good  and  the  true.  It  has  an  absolute  basis ;  but, 
as  it  is  joined  to  the  sensuous,  there  is  always  in  the  beau- 
tiful something  relative  to  its  organization.  The  good,  on 
the  contrary,  is  essentially  absolute ;  if  it  is  united  to  the 
sensuous,  and  if  for  that  reason  it  includes  some  relative 
element,  this  is  not  its  essence ;  on  the  contrary,  that  must 
be  an  accident  which  alters  its  essence,  and  prevents  it  from 
being  entirely  itself. 

It  will  perhaps  be  objected,  by  an  argument  ad  hominem, 
that  I  have  myself  introduced  a  sensuous  element  into  the 
definition  of  good,  since  I  regard  happiness  as  an  integral 
and  essential  part  of  that  definition.  But  I  may  answer  with 
Plato ;  "  We  speak  only  of  the  human  life,  for  perhaps  in 
the  divine  life  it  would  not  be  thus."  In  fact,  it  is  not  clear 
that  physical  sensation,  even  in  that  pure  state  in  which 
pleasure  is  conceived  to  exist  without  any  alloy  of  pain,  is 
reconcilable  with  the  idea  of  the  perfect  being ;  and  conse- 
quently, good  would  exist  in  such  a  being  unmingled  with 
any  sensuous  element.  Far  from  ceasing  to  be  good,  it 
would  become,  on  the  contrary,  absolute  good.  But,  setting 
aside  this  consideration,  I  say  that  by  the  union  of  the  intel- 
lectual and  the  sensuous,  I  mean  the  intellectual  manifested 
in  sensuous  forms ;  that  is  to  say,  by  form,  movement,  color, 
or  sound.  In  a  word,  it  is  the  external,  not  the  internal, 
sense,  which,  united  with  the  idea,  constitutes  the  beautiful. 
By  the  internal  sense  we  enjoy  the  beautiful,  but  we  do  not 
make  it.  Now,  the  happiness  which,  according  to  my  theory, 
enters  into  the  idea  of  good,  belongs  to  the  internal,  not  to 
the  external,  sense. 

Undoubtedly,  good  embodies  itself  in  exterior  actions,  and 
consequently  is  manifest  in  the  world  of  sense.    It  is,  there- 


116  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

fore,  united  to  the  sensuous,  as  is  the  beautiful,  but  with 
this  difference :  that  in  the  beautiful,  the  sensuous  element  is 
essential  and  primordial ;  in  the  good,  it  is  only  consequent 
and  secondary.  Take  from  the  Venus  of  Milo  matter,  that 
is,  the  marble,  with  the  form,  that  is,  the  statue  itself,  and 
preserve  only  the  idea:  its  beauty  has  disappeared  alto- 
gether. On  the  other  hand,  take  a  moral  action;  suppose 
the  will  is  not  executed  on  account  of  circumstances  inde- 
pendent of  itself;  the  moral  value  of  the  action  remains 
intact.  By  this  we  see  that  the  sensuous  is  extraneous  to 
the  good,  and  is  only  its  exterior  form. 

But  the  objection  may  be  carried  farther :  it  may  be  said, 
that  in  the  very  idea  of  good,  before  any  material  and  exter- 
nal realization,  there  enters  necessarily  a  matter,  and  a  sen- 
suous matter.  The  good,  like  the  beautiful,  is  composed  of 
a  matter  and  a  form ;  the  form  is  the  idea  of  perfection ;  but 
this  idea  must  be  realized  in  the  real  world,  and  in  some  real 
object,  or  it  is  empty.  The  aim  of  morality  is  to  raise 
the  sensuous  within  us  and  outside  of  us  to  the  sphere  of  the 
intelligible,  to  transform  nature  into  reason,  fatality  into 
liberty,  the  thing  into  thought :  it  is  to  use  one's  members 
for  work,  one's  words  for  the  truth,  one's  life  for  the  happi- 
ness of  others,  one's  possessions  for  their  benefit.  Now,  all 
these  things,  members,  words,  life,  and  possessions,  are  sen- 
suous objects :  in  using  them  in  obedience  to  the  idea  of  good, 
that  is,  in  order  to  realize  within  us  the  ideal  of  the  human 
personality  in  its  fulness,  we  are  in  a  sense  endeavoring,  as 
Kant  expresses  it,  to  intellectualize  the  sensuous  world.  Is  not 
this  exactly  what  the  beautiful  does,  if  it  is  defined  as  the 
intellectual  made  sensuous? 

On  the  contrary,  in  my  view,  from  this  very  definition 
results  the  fundamental  difference  between  the  two  ideas. 
In  one,  the  beautiful,  the  intellectual  becomes  sensuous, 
expresses  itself  through  the  sensuous :  in  the  other,  the  good ; 
it  is,  on  the  contrary,  the  sensuous  which  becomes  intellectual. 
In  the  beautiful,  if  one  may  so  express  it,  it  is  the  idea  which 


THE  TRUE,  THE  GOOD,  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL.     117 

is  the  matter,  and  the  sensuous  which  is  the  form :  in  the 
good,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  sensitive  which  is  the  matter, 
and  the  idea  which  is  the  form.  While  I  have  merely  a  gen- 
eral and  abstract  idea,  I  have  only  a  primary  matter :  I  give 
it  an  aesthetic  form  when  I  make  it  individual  and  con- 
crete. On  the  contrary,  the  goods  of  the  body,  and  all  ex- 
terior goods,  are  merely  the  matter  of  the  good  in  itself:  it 
is  the  idea  of  perfection  and  excellence  which  gives  them 
their  form.  Thus  the  intellectual  and  the  sensuous  both 
enter  into  the  idea  of  the  good  and  of  the  beautiful,  but  in 
an  inverse  order. 

Another  difference,  connected  with  the  preceding  one,  is 
that  the  beautiful  is  essentially  impersonal  and  exterior :  the 
good,  on  the  contrary,  is  personal  and  interior.  We  say, 
my  good :  we  do  not  say,  my  beautiful.  In  fact,  it  is  gener- 
ally believed  that  my  good  is  not  the  good,  and  that  it  is 
opposed  to  it,  as  a  personal  to  a  general  interest.  But  this 
is  an  error,  which  I  have  already  refuted.  What  is  called  the 
good  is  only  a  generalization  of  what  each  one  calls  his  good, 
and  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conceive  how  a  being  could  be 
under  obligation  to  strive  for  a  good  which  was  absolutely 
foreign  to  him.  Doubtless  we  ought  to  sacrifice  our  individ- 
ual interest  to  the  general  interest ;  but  this  is  because  our 
good  is  connected  with  the  good  of  all,  and  is  one  with  it, 
the  most  exalted  good  of  man  lying  in  his  union  with  other 
men.  In  doing  good,  it  is  certain  that  we  acquire  for  our 
souls  an  excellent  good ;  that  is,  pity,  clemency,  respect  for 
the  rights  of  others :  this  is  what  makes  a  soul  truly  good ; 
and  virtue  consists  in  acquiring  these  kinds  of  goods,  which 
make  our  real  treasure.  Good  is,  then,  something  which  we 
can  acquire,  accumulate,  assimilate  with  ourselves  —  in  a 
word,  appropriate  to  ourselves :  it  is  in  us,  and  belongs  to  us. 
It  is,  then,  personal  and  interior. 

The  beautiful,  on  the  contrary,  is  impersonal  and  exterior. 
In  respect  to  it,  we  can  play  but  one  part  —  that  of  observers. 
Even  when  we  produce  it,  we  produce  it  outside  of  ourselves, 


118  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

as  something  which  is  not  ourselves ;  and,  when  once  it  is 
produced,  it  is  as  much  apart  from  us  as  from  others ;  we 
can  enjoy  it  only  in  contemplating  it ;  we  cannot  appropriate 
it  to  ourselves,  nor  identify  it  with  ourselves.  Jouffroy  has 
admirably  depicted  this  impersonal  character  of  the  beautiful, 
and  the  never  satiated  passion  which  it  excites  in  certain 
minds.1 

By  what  precedes,  we  see  how  many  objections  there  are 
to  regarding  the  good  and  the  beautiful  as  identical.  To  do 
so  would  be  to  make  the  aesthetic  out-rank  the  moral  senti- 
ment within  the  soul,  to  place  contemplation  above  action. 
Quietism  is  the  danger  of  aesthetic  morality.  To  admire 
is  not  to  act.  "In  the  Olympian  games,"  says  Aristotle, 
"  the  crown  is  won,  not  by  the  most  beautiful,  but  by  the 
bravest  and  the  strongest." 

It  may  be  granted  in  regard  to  the  beautiful  as  well  as  to 
the  true,  that  at  its  source  it  is  commingled  with  the  good, 
in  the  sense  that  every  thing  finds  its  principle  and  its  rea- 
son within  the  Supreme  Being.  But  at  this  height  every 
thing  becomes  vague,  and  escapes  from  our  view.  It  is  enough 
for  science  to  define  ideas  under  the  direct  relations  which 
they  sustain  to  us:  to  look  higher,  is  to  pass  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  condition  of  humanity. 

i  Jouffroy,  Esthttique,  lecture  fifth. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ABSOLUTE  GOOD. 

TTTE  have  followed  out  the  analysis  of  good  up  to  the 
*  *  point  where  moral  science  passes  into  metaphysics. 
As  the  human  mind  is  always  free  to  curb  its  curiosity  at 
any  point  it  chooses,  we  might,  on  arriving  here,  refuse  to 
continue  our  researches,  and  thus  avoid  a  difficult  analysis. 
Those  who  think  that  nothing  is  accomplished  while  any 
thing  remains  to  be  done,  and  who  will  not  voluntarily  per- 
mit questions  to  be  cut  short  by  discouraging  responses  of 
the  non-admissible,  will  soon  perceive  that  the  moral  problem 
will  lead  them  farther  than  they  have  expected,  and  that  it 
passes  into  the  metaphysical  problem  itself. 

There  is  only  one  way  in  which  to  found  a  moral  science 
absolutely  independent  of  all  metaphysics  :  it  is  by  proclaim- 
ing the  doctrine  of  pleasure  or  of  utility. 

If,  indeed,  you  limit  yourself  to  stating  that  there  is  one 
fact  which  is  called  pleasure,  and  another  which  is  called 
pain ;  that  there  are  several  kinds  of  pleasures ;  that  pleas- 
ure has  several  qualities  —  intensity,  duration,  security  —  and 
if,  comparing  pleasures  and  pains,  you  observe  that  a  cer- 
tain pleasure  inevitably  produces  a  certain  pain,  that  a 
certain  pain  is  the  necessary  condition  of  a  certain  pleas- 
ure ;  you  may,  by  combining  these  elements,  by  making  the 
future  compensate  for  the  present,  or  by  guiding  the  pres- 
ent by  the  warnings  of  the  past — you  may,  I  say,  found  a 
sort  of  science,  which  Plato,  as  we  have  seen,  calls  the  metrics 
of  pleasure,1  and  which  Bentham  attempted  to  establish. 

i  See  p.  11. 

119 


120  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Moral  science,  then,  becomes  technological,  an  industry:  it 
consists  in  governing  and  guiding  phenomena  in  conformity 
with  a  given  aim,  which  is,  the  greatest  possible  pleasure  of 
the  individual ;  just  as  the  industrial  arts  combine  and  direct 
phenomena  in  conformity  with  natural  laws,  each  one  toward 
a  definite  end.  Observation,  experience,  and  calculation  are 
then  the  methods  of  moral  as  well  as  of  physical  science ; 
and  every  supersensible  element  disappears  entirely.  Thus 
transformed  into  an  industry,  an  art  of  voluptuousness,  a  prac- 
tical prudence,  moral  science  is  plainly  as  independent  of 
metaphysics  as  is  any  other  trade. 

But  moral  science  is  not  an  industry :  it  is  an  art  —  not  a 
mechanical  art,  in  the  service  of  pleasure,  but  a  liberal  art, 
in  the  service  of  the  beautiful.  It  does  not  serve,  it  com- 
mands, as  Aristotle  has  so  well  said  of  metaphysics.  It  dis- 
tinguishes pleasures,  as  we  have  seen,  not  only  by  their 
quantity,  but  also  by  their  quality  :  by  this  very  act  it  rises 
above  pleasure,  and  ascends  to  the  idea  of  good  itself.  Pleas- 
ure is  no  longer  the  standard  for  good :  it  is  good  that  is  the 
standard  for  pleasure.  Pleasures  are  mutually  related  as 
actions,  and  the  best  action  is  the  source  of  the  most  excel- 
lent pleasure.  If  this  is  true,  then,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
there  must  be  within  things  some  good  independent  of  our 
sensations ;  our  faculties  must  be  good  in  themselves,  even 
before  the  existence  of  the  pleasure  which  springs  from  them ; 
and  there  must  be  degrees  of  excellence  and  dignity  among 
them,  which  give  the  scale  by  which  to  estimate  the  differ- 
ent pleasures,  and  which  are  themselves  determined  by  the 
nature  of  these  faculties.  Things  have  thus  an  effective 
value  within  themselves,  which  depends  upon  their  essence, 
and  is  measured  by  this  essence,  not  by  the  impressions 
which  they  make  upon  us.  If  nothing  of  this  sort  were  true, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  explain  why  one  object  ought  to 
be  preferred  to  another,  and,  consequently,  why  one  action  is 
better  than  another. 

It  will  be  said  j  It  is  not  necessary  to  pass  beyond  the  do- 


ABSOLUTE  GOOD.  121 

main  of  experience  to  perceive  that  there  is  a  difference  in 
value  between  things  belonging  to  the  moral  order.  This  is 
a  fact  which  must  be  recognized,  whether  one  attempts  to 
draw  metaphysical  consequences  from  it,  or  not.  It  would 
be  absurd  to  maintain  that  an  act  of  heroism  is  not  worth 
more  than  an  act  of  selfishness. 

I  reply ;  The  value  of  things  is  not  a  fact.  No  experience 
can  demonstrate  that  one  thing  is  worth  more  than  another. 
In  what  balances  will  you  place  heroism  and  egotism  to 
measure  their  respective  worth?  There  are  none.  Doubt- 
less it  is  a  fact  that  men  judge  them  thus ;  but,  in  forming 
this  opinion,  men  spontaneously  introduce  into  their  judg- 
ment an  element  which  is  not  empirical,  which  does  not  re- 
late to  the  pure  phenomenon,  but  which  belongs  to  the  essence 
of  things ;  for  it  is  absolutely  and  in  itself  that  heroism  is 
worth  more  than  egotism.  Moral  value  is  not  the  same  as 
economic  value.  The  latter,  which  is  merely  a  relation  be- 
tween two  desires,  can  be  measured  accurately  by  the  number 
of  sacrifices  which  it  will  purchase ;  and  these  sacrifices  them- 
selves have  a  positive  expression  in  what  is  called  money. 
But  is  there  any  money  in  the  moral  order  by  which  to  pay 
for,  and  thus  to  value,  the  qualities  of  the  soul?  These 
qualities  have  an  intrinsic  worth,  independent  of  the  utility 
they  niajr  develop.  Now,  it  is  this  utility  merely  which 
comes  under  the  domain  of  experience :  the  essential  value 
of  acts  belongs  to  another  order.  Hence  arises  the  difference 
between  principles  and  facts.  If  principles  are  not  merely 
the  resultants  of  facts,  but  should  be  the  rule  for  them,  it  is 
because  moral  science  is  based  upon  an  order  of  things  which 
is  not  the  order  of  phenomena  and  the  senses,  but  is  often  the 
reverse  of  this.  For  example,  from  the  stand-point  of  sensa- 
tion, nothing  is  worth  more  than  the  preservation  of  life  :  from 
the  moral  stand-point,  on  the  contrary,  life  is  of  less  value 
than  certain  other  goods  —  honor,  justice,  truth.  These  in- 
visible goods,  superior  to  tangible  goods,  prove  clearly,  that, 
beyond  pure  phenomena,  there  is  something  which  is  of  more 


122  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

value  than  they.  Now,  what  do  metaphysics  say  if  not  pre- 
cisely this  ? 

Undoubtedly,  the  goods  which  created  beings  offer  us  are 
only,  in  one  sense,  relative  goods,  for  they  are  merely  degrees 
of  good ;  and,  however  exalted  each  of  these  degrees  may 
seem  to  us,  we  can  always  find,  or  at  the  least  can  always 
conceive,  their  superiors.  All  the  goods  which  life  offers 
us  are  but  secondary  goods,  beyond  which  we  can  always 
imagine  higher  ones.  Even  those  which  must  be  considered 
as  possessing  an  absolute  value,  such  as  science,  genius,  and 
virtue,  may  always  be  imagined  in  a  higher  degree  than  any 
which  experience  shows  us.  Above  the  noblest  human 
science,  the  loftiest  genius,  the  purest  virtue,  we  can  con- 
ceive another  science,  another  genius,  another  virtue.  In 
this  sense,  once  more,  we  may  say  that  there  are  no  goods 
but  such  as  are  relative. 

But,  in  another  sense,  these  relative  goods  are  absolute ; 
for  they  depend  neither  upon  our  taste,  our  sensations,  nor 
our  personal  interest.  Whether  it  pleases  us,  or  not,  heroism 
is  a  noble  thing:  purity  of  manners,  veracity,  devotion  to 
science,  are  excellent.  We  cannot  in  any  way  alter  at  all 
the  order  of  excellence  of  goods:  we  cannot  desire  that 
thought  should  be  inferior  to  nutrition,  friendship  to  selfish- 
ness, nobility  of  soul  to  servility.  Thus,  between  these  two 
things  —  that  is,  between  moral  qualities  —  there  are  necessary 
and  absolute  relations,  just  as  there  are  between  quantities. 
There  is  a  moral  arithmetic,  to  use  Bentham's  expression : 
only  this  arithmetic  is  not  the  calculation  of  pleasures.  It 
is  a  valuation  of  another  kind,  but  one  which  is  no  less  sure, 
although  it  is  less  rigorous. 

Before  asking,  then,  whether  there  is  an  absolute  good,  a 
good  in  itself,  superior  to  all  relative  goods,  let  us  begin  by 
showing  that  these  relative  goods  have  themselves  a  real  and 
definite  value,  independent  of  human  sensations,  and  that, 
however  imperfect  they  may  be,  they  have  a  characteristic 
perfection  strictly  commensurate  with  their  degree  of  reality. 


ABSOLUTE  GOOD.  123 

Only  on  this  condition  can  we  conceive  the  idea  of  prog- 
ress, and  of  ascending  evolution,  which  is  to-day  generally 
acknowledged  as  a  law  of  humanity,  and  even  of  nature. 
How  could  it  be  affirmed  that  humanity  has  always  ad- 
vanced toward  perfection,  from  the  savage  state  up  to  its 
present  condition ;  that  nature  itself  has  constantly  followed 
an  ascending  line  of  march,  from  the  state  of  diffusion  by 
which  it  began,  up  to  organization,  life,  feeling,  thought, 
liberty,  etc.  ?  How,  I  say,  could  this  doctrine  of  evolution, 
or  progress,  be  intelligible,  if  we  deny  that  there  are  in 
things  comparative  degrees  of  excellence  and  of  perfection  ? 
And  this  gradation  of  excellence  cannot  be  regarded  as  a 
gradation  of  pleasure :  for,  on  the  one  hand,  a  plant  seems 
to  us  superior  to  a  stone,  yet  the  plant  feels  no  pleasure  in 
this  superiority.  On  the  other  hand,  growth  in  excellence 
does  not  always  involve  an  increase  of  pleasure.  Often  suf- 
fering increases  with  the  superiority  of  the  being,  but  the 
superiority  of  excellence  is  not  diminished  thereby.  Some- 
times, on  the  contrary,  it  even  seems  as  though  the  suffer- 
ing were  itself  a  superior  degree  of  excellence. 

Now,  from  these  two  laws ;  First,  that  things  differ,  not  only 
in  quantity,  but  also  in  quality,  in  value,  and  in  excellence ; 
Second,  that  nature  and  humanity  pass  continually  from  lower 
goods  to  higher  ones,  and  tend  ceaselessly  toward  the  better  — 
from  these  two  laws,  we  may  conclude  that  in  nature  there 
is  something  more  than  the  purely  physical  laws;  or,  vice 
versa,  that  if  there  were  in  nature  only  physical  laws,  these 
two  laws  would  be  unintelligible  and  inexplicable. 

Indeed,  were  there  a  purely  physical  order  of  things — that 
is  to  say,  one  in  which  all  phenomena  could  be  brought  under 
physical  and  mechanical  laws,  in  which  life,  thought,  will, 
liberty,  and  love  were  merely  chemical  combinations  —  on 
what  ground,  I  ask,  could  one  affirm  that  certain  things  are 
worth  more  than  others ;  that  one  act  is  more  excellent  and 
noble  than  another  ;  that  love  is  worth  more  than  selfish- 
ness, science  than  gluttony,  the  beautiful  than  the  voluptu- 


124  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

ous,  nobility  of  soul  than  base  flattery ;  in  a  word,  that  the 
goods  of  the  soul  are  superior  to  those  of  the  body,  and 
the  happiness  of  a  man  is  superior  to  that  of  an  animal  ? 

From  the  stand-point  of  physical  laws,  one  phenomenon  is 
worth  as  much  as  any  other;  for  every  phenomenon  is  in 
strict  conformity  with  the  laws  of  nature.  Nothing  happens 
which  is  not  conformable  to  these  laws,  consequently  nothing 
which  is  not  necessary  and  legitimate ;  and,  as  all  phenomena 
are  alike  the  result  of  necessary  laws,  all  have  exactly  the 
same  source  and  the  same  value.  The  hail  which  destroys 
the  harvests  falls  by  virtue  of  the  same  laws  as  does  the  rain 
which  makes  the  earth  fertile.  The  difference  in  effect  does 
not  at  all  alter  the  essence  of  the  phenomena. 

When  you  declare  that  certain  actions  are  better  than  cer- 
tain others,  you  can  do  so  only  because  you  attribute  to  one 
something  more  than  to  the  other  —  because  you  discover 
in  one  something  that  is  lacking  in  the  other ;  but,  if  every 
thing  is  reduced  to  physical  or  chemical  combinations,  what 
is  it  which  makes  the  privileged  character  of  some  actions, 
and  leads  us  to  declare  them  of  a  superior  order?  We 
might  say  that  a  certain  action  is  useful,  and  another  is 
injurious ;  but  in  themselves  virtue  and  vice  would  be  dis- 
tinguished by  no  intrinsic  character,  and  even,  in  certain 
emergencies,  vice  might  seem  more  useful,  and  therefore 
better,  than  virtue. 

Hence  the  only  morality  which  would  be  intelligible  under 
such  circumstances  would  be  the  theory  of  pleasure.  But 
if  the  theory  of  pleasure  is  inadequate,  if  there  is  above 
pleasure  some  element  which  cannot  be  reduced  to  pleasure, 
and  which  is  the  good,  this  element  is  the  one  which  is  lack- 
ing in  this  physico-chemical  philosophy;  and  it  is  this  ele- 
ment which  constitutes  morality. 

The  partisans  of  the  physico-chemical1  philosophy  en- 
deavor to  explain  the  ascending  degrees  of  nature  and  the 
progressive  evolution  of  forms  and  faculties  as  being  more 

1  By  this  I  mean  what  is  ordinarily  called  materialism. 


ABSOLUTE  GOOD.  125 

and  more  complex  forms  of  elementary  phenomena.  But 
complexity  is  by  no  means  equivalent  to  perfection.  A 
complicated  imbroglio  is  not  for  this  reason  superior  to  a 
beautiful  Grecian  tragedy.  The  system  of  the  world,  al- 
though very  simple,  is  an  admirable  thing ;  and  Copernicus 
was  led  to  discover  its  true  system  by  the  thought  that  the 
system  of  Ptolemy  was  too  complicated.  Undoubtedly,  as 
one  rises  in  the  scale  of  being,  more  component  parts  are 
found ;  but  there  is  also,  as  we  have  seen,  more  unity.  It  is 
not  diversity  alone  (which  would  be  merely  disorder),  but 
it  is  diversity  brought  under  a  plan,  which  makes  perfection 
in  the  works  of  nature,  as  in  those  of  art.  Thus  it  is  in  pro- 
portion as  we  find  more  art  in  nature  that  we  find  more 
perfection  there :  and  the  reason  why  man  appears  to  us  to 
be  superior  to  all  the  rest  is,  that  in  him  we  find,  not  only 
more  art  than  in  any  other  creature,  but  the  very  principle 
of  art  itself — will,  feeling,  thought;  in  one  word,  mind. 

If  complexity  is  not  perfection;  if  the  number  and  the 
complication  of  elements  do  not  suffice  to  give  to  one  combi- 
nation any  more  value  than  belongs  to  another ;  if,  relatively 
to  the  primitive  laws  of  matter,  all  combinations  are  merely 
resultants  having  no  mutual  relations  of  excellence  and  of 
dignity  —  then  how  can  physico-chemical  philosophy  explain 
the  idea  of  good?  Conversely,  if  there  is  in  the  human  con- 
sciousness an  idea  of  good ;  if  there  are  comparative  degrees 
for  things  and  for  actions,  from  the  stand-point  of  beauty,  of 
nobility,  of  dignity ;  if,  moreover,  these  goods  should  be  valued 
according  to  their  intrinsic  worth,  and  not  according  to  the 
pleasure  which  they  give  —  does  not  all  this  afford  clear, 
although  indirect,  proof  that  nature  is  something  else  than 
a  piece  of  physico-chemical  mechanism,  a  fortuitous  product 
of  the  elements,  in  a  word,  more  than  brute  matter  ? 

The  physicists  tell  us  that  there  is  always  in  the  universe 
the  same  quantity  of  force  and  the  same  quantity  of  matter ; 
but,  if  there  has  always  been  the  same  amount  of  physical 
reality,  has  this  always  had  the  same  degree  of  perfection  ? 


126  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Are  the  changes  of  condition  through  which  it  has  passed, 
and  which,  physically  speaking,  are  only  recombinations  of 
the  same  matter,  displacements  of  the  same  force — are  they 
nothing  but  simple  changes  ?  Are  they  not  also  a  progress 
toward  the  better  ?  And,  if  you  advance  to  humanity,  must 
we  say  that  science,  genius,  heroism,  art,  liberty,  thought 
itself,  are  nothing  but  displacements  of  matter  and  of  force  ? 
And,  if  this  were  true,  would  not  such  combinations,  even 
though  they  contained  substantially  nothing  more  than  is 
found  in  a  volcanic  eruption  or  a  shower  of  stones,  would 
they  not  have  a  much  higher  ideal  value?  Now,  whence 
could  this  worth,  this  increase  in  value,  be  derived,  in  a  uni- 
verse in  which  only  physico-chemical  forces  were  in  action? 
If  it  is  said  that  it  is  our  own  thoughts  which  give  this  value 
to  things,  where  do  our  thoughts  themselves  find  this  stand- 
ard, which  cannot  be  tested  by  mathematical  measures,  by 
weight,  level,  or  compass?  The  thought  which  can  thus 
create  such  a  standard,  proves  by  so  doing  that  it  is  of  a 
different  order  and  a  different  value  from  that  which  it 
measures. 

Similar  objections  may  be  made  to  another  theory,  which 
is  not  materialism,  but  which  seeks  to  break  off  all  connec- 
tion between  morality  and  either  metaphysics  or  religion. 
This  is  the  theory  of  independent  morality.  If  by  independ- 
ent morality  is  meant  a  science  which,  like  all  others,  has 
what  Aristotle  calls  its  characteristic  principles^  principles 
which  it  derives  directly  from  the  human  conscience,  without 
deducing  them  from  any  anterior  science ;  if  it  is  merely 
affirmed  that  these  principles  —  such  as  the  distinction  be- 
tween good  and  evil,  the  law  of  duty,  the  principle  of  merit 
and  demerit,  etc.  —  are  derived  neither  from  the  idea  of  a 
superior  power  nor  from  the  idea  of  sanction,  but  that  they 
have  a  value  in  themselves,  even  before  we  know  that  they 
emanate  from  an  all-powerful  will,  and  that  they  have  the 
guaranty  of  that  same  will  —  then  in  that  sense  I  freely  admit 
the  idea  of  independent  morality.     Still,  I  do  not  think  that 


ABSOLUTE  GOOD.  127 

even  then  it  could  be  separated  entirely  (like  physics  or 
chemistry)  from  metaphysics  or  from  religion. 

Morality  does  not,  like  these,  aim  merely  to  ascertain 
facts,  and  establish  general  laws:  it  establishes  principles. 
It  is  not  even  satisfied,  like  geometry,  with  stating  these  prin- 
ciples as  self-evident,  and  deducing  consequences  from  them. 
Its  true  object  is  to  establish  these  principles,  which  it  effects 
by  the  analysis  of  the  ideas  which  are  furnished  to  it  by  the 
natural  instinct  and  by  common  sense.  Now,  just  in  pro- 
portion as  it  penetrates  by  analysis  into  the  true  meaning  of 
these  fundamental  ideas  which  compose  it,  it  penetrates  also 
into  the  domain  of  metaphysics ;  and,  whatever  may  be  in- 
tended, its  foundation  is  always  metaphysical.  If  one  says 
with  Spinoza,  that  good  consists  in  passing  from  a  lesser  reality 
to  a  greater  reality  ;  with  Aristotle,  that  the  good  of  a  being 
lies  in  the  activity  suitable  to  him;  with  Wolf,  that  good 
consists  in  perfection  ;  with  Kant,  that  the  human  personality 
is  sacred,  that  is,  that  it  has  an  absolute  value,  that  it  is  an 
end  in  itself,  and  not  a  means  —  all  these  ideas,  reality,  activity, 
perfection,  absolute,  end,  etc.,  are  metaphysical.  Most  cer- 
tainly the  two  sciences  should  not  be  confounded;  but  moral 
science  cannot  dispense  with  these  ideas,  and  they  form  its 
basis. 

Some  will  say  that  moral  science  does  not  borrow  these 
ideas  from  metaphysics,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  it  supplies 
them  to  the  latter.  Just  as  the  natural  sciences  give  to 
metaphysics  the  ideas  of  space,  of  law,  of  substance,  as 
psychology  gives  it  the  ideas  of  causation  and  of  time,  so 
moral  science  furnishes  the  idea  of  perfection.  Each  of  these 
sciences  assumes  the  truth  of  certain  elementary  ideas  whose 
nature,  origin,  and  influence  they  do  not  investigate.  Those 
who  desire  to  solve  the  problem  may  try,  if  they  wish,  to 
follow  up  the  stream  to  its  source ;  but  the  sciences  which 
supply  these  first  requisites  do  not  need  to  go  back  so  far. 
They  carry  their  own  light  within  themselves,  and  would 
only  be  compromised  if  they  should  concern  themselves  with 


128  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  problems  which  belong  to  the  most  contested  of  all  the 
sciences. 

It  appears  to  me  unimportant  to  decide  whether  moral 
science  furnishes  its  fundamental  ideas  to  metaphysics,  or 
borrows  them  from  it.  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  historically, 
that,  in  proportion  as  a  higher  idea  of  the  human  soul  is 
developed  within  men,  their  conceptions  of  the  supreme 
cause  have  become  more  and  more  perfect.  In  Greece, 
moral  science  killed  polytheism :  in  proportion  also  as  they 
constantly  saw  the  end  of  their  desires  withdrawing  farther 
from  them,  as  they  sought  after  a  more  and  more  noble,  and 
more  and  more  distant,  happiness,  they  gradually  conceived 
of  a  supreme  end,  identical  with  the  ultimate  cause.  I  also 
heartily  agree  with  Kant,  that  one  must  pass  from  morals  to 
theodicy,  and  that  the  surest  road  to  God  is  the  sentiment 
of  ideal  perfection  which  takes  possession  of  the  human 
conscience,  blended  with  the  contemplation  of  the  material 
universe.  But,  in  my  opinion,  there  is  a  path  which  re- 
turns from  the  supreme  verity  to  moral  verity.  If  analysis 
leads  from  the  moral  to  the  religious  idea,  synthesis  descends 
again  from  the  religious  to  the  moral  idea.  God  is  the 
surety  for  morality  —  not  in  the  gross  and  common  mean- 
ing, that  he  stands  ready  to  assure  us  the  price  and  recom- 
pense, as  though  we  feared  we  might  make  a  fool's  bargain 
by  being  virtuous  gratuitously,  but  in  the  nobler  and  true 
sense,  that  his  existence  bears  witness  that  we  are  not  conse- 
crating our  lives  to  a  chimera,  or  a  dream  of  the  imagination. 

The  primary  fact  on  which  the  defenders  of  independent 
morality  rely  is,  they  say,  that  of  the  inviolability  of  the  human 
personality,  as  they  express  it.  But  this  is  not  a  fact  like 
any  other,  for  it  involves  right  and  duty ;  that  is  to  say,  that 
which  is  not,  but  which  ought  to  be  !  How  can  that  which  ought 
to  be,  be  a  fact  ?  If  every  thing  were  reducible  to  a  chain  of 
physical  causes,  how  could  there  be  any  other  law  than  the 
law  of  that  which  is?  In  the  physical  order,  that  which 
is,  should  be,  and  every  thing  that   can  be,  is.     Morality, 


ABSOLUTE  GOOD.  129 

then,  evidently  assumes  the  existence  of  some  other  order 
than  the  purely  physical  one  —  an  order  which  is  ideal  and 
intellectual,  mingled  with  the  physical  order,  contradicted 
and  unceasingly  opposed  by  this  physical  and  mechanical 
order,  and  one  which  the  free  will  endeavors  to  disengage 
and  deliver.  But  is  not  this  clear  proof  that  man  belongs 
to  two  orders,  to  two  kingdoms,  and  that,  if  his  feet  are 
plunged  in  the  physical  order,  his  head  rises  into  an  order 
which  is  intelligible  and  divine  ? 

Behold,  in  this  physical  and  necessary  world  there  sud- 
denly appears  a  free  and  inviolable  personality :  what  can 
this  be  but  a  miracle  —  a  miracle  of  chance  and  blind  fatal- 
ity—  unless  this  free  personality  is  the  expression,  the 
emanation,  the  prophetic  image,  of  another  kingdom,  which 
Kant  has  admirably  called  the  reign  of  ends,  and  which  has 
its  laws  like  any  other?  Whither  runs  this  noble  root  of 
duty,  of  which  Kant  speaks  ?  Whence  does  it  spring  ?  On 
what  is  it  nourished,  since  it  has  nothing  in  common  with  the 
inclinations,  passions,  appetites,  or  any  thing  which  comes  to 
us  from  without  ?  This  inner,  this  inviolable  man,  has,  then, 
some  participation  in  the  absolute,  since  it  is  absolutely  forbid- 
den to  assail  him. 

The  conception  of  an  ideal  —  that  is  to  say,  of  something 
infinitely  superior  to  any  thing  winch  exists  —  is,  then,  essen- 
tial to  moral  science.  Moral  science  assumes,  that,  in  each 
particular  case,  above  the  action  to  which  nature  inclines  us, 
there  is  another  possible  and  better  one,  more  conformable  to 
the  essence  of  man,  and  which  reason  commands  us  to  per- 
form. True  human  science  is  not,  then,  the  simple  reflex  of 
human  nature.  The  true  man  is  not  the  same  as  the  actual 
man.  For  example,  the  latter  loves  life,  and  will  sacrifice 
any  thing  to  preserve  it :  the  former,  on  the  contrary,  will 
sacrifice  every  thing,  even  his  life,  for  something  other  than 
himself;  and  it  is  he  who  is  in  the  right. 

Let  them  now  explain  to  us  whence  can  come  this  thought 
of  a  type,  a  model,  an  ideal,  with  which  we  compare  our 


130  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

actions,  and  by  which  we  judge  them.  Must  it  not  at  least 
be  admitted  that  there  is  in  this  whole  of  which  we  make  a 
part,  in  this  universe  which  envelops  us,  a  tendency  toward 
the  better,  an  evolution  which  leads  step  by  step  up  to  the 
being  in  whom  this  tendency  becomes  self-conscious  and 
obligatory?  Above  nature  and  its  necessary  and  brutal 
laws  there  will,  then,  be  at  least  the  idea,  which  guides  and 
animates  it,  and  gives  to  it  its  value.  A  heap  of  stones  is 
merely  a  heap  of  stones ;  but  let  these  stones  be  arranged  to 
form  a  triumphal  arch,  a  portal,  a  pedestal,  etc.,  and  they  will 
thenceforth  acquire  a  meaning  and  an  excellence  which  they 
did  not  previously  possess.  What,  then,  is  this  thing,  which 
is  neither  matter  nor  force,  but  which  transfigures  matter  and 
force  by  transforming  them  into  its  instruments  ?  It  is  the 
thought  or  idea.  It  must,  therefore,  be  admitted,  that  there 
is  in  nature  a  thought,  an  idea,  by  whatever  name  it  may  be 
called.  As  man  has  his  idea,  that  is  his  essence,  his  model, 
his  verity  which  alone  gives  value  to  his  life,  worth  to  his 
actions,  hope  and  consolation  in  his  misery,  must  not  the 
entirety  of  nature  also  (man  being  included)  have  its  Idea, 
its  Essence,  its  verity  (whether  immanent  or  transcendent  we 
will  leave  the  metaphysicians  to  discuss),  in  one  word,  its 
reason,  which,  I  repeat,  is  not  limited  to  brute  matter  with 
its  elementary  properties  ? 

Let  them  say,  if  they  will,  that  this  ideal  is  a  conception 
of  the  human  mind ;  one  of  two  things  is  true :  either  they 
mean  by  this  a  purely  chimerical  and  arbitrary  conception, 
created  by  the  imagination  and  a  vague  desire,  a  sort  of 
mirage  of  the  passions  —  and  we  should  be  insane  were  we  to 
sacrifice  to  such  a  dream  the  imperfect  but  palpable  happi- 
ness which  we  could  derive  from  interest,  properly  under- 
stood ;  or  else  we  are  really  under  obligation  to  make  such 
a  sacrifice.  But  in  the  latter  case  this  ideal  must  have  its 
foundations  laid  in  our  very  essence,  »it  must  be  more  real 
than  actuality  itself ;  and,  if  so,  it  is  this  verity  which  is  the 
true  reality :  in  a  word,  beyond  the  apparent  and  phenomenal 


ABSOLUTE  GOOD.  131 

reality,  beyond  the  visible  and  manifest  being,  there  must 
be  the  true  being,  in  which  we  are  conscious  of  participating, 
and  which  we  ought  to  resemble  as  closely  as  possible.  Un- 
doubtedly the  ideal  man,  the  man  in  himself  of  Plato,  and 
the  tvise  man  of  the  Stoics,  are  but  abstract  models  created 
by  our  minds,  and  possessing  no  objective  reality ;  but  these 
conceptions  are  formed  by  the  combination  which  we  make 
of  the  idea  of  the  real  man,  and  the  idea  of  the  absolute 
Being.  The  ideal  man  would,  then,  be  the  greatest  possible 
participation  of  the  real  man  in  the  absolute  Being.  But  if 
there  were  nothing  in  the  universe  but  matter  and  its  laws, 
where  would  we  find  the  material  necessary  for  the  forma- 
tion of  the  idea  of  this  model  and  of  this  type,  whose  tribu- 
taries we  recognize  ourselves  to  be  ? 

An  eminent  thinker  of  our  time  has  remarked  that  it  is 
impossible  to  deny  the  existence  of  an  infinite,  absolute, 
universal  Being  —  in  a  word,  of  a  primal  Being  —  but  that 
by  calling  this  Being  a  perfect  Being,  as  spiritualistic  phi- 
losophers generally  do,  he  is  at  once  transformed  into  a  sort 
of  ideal  model,  having  no  more  effective  reality  than  the 
perfect  circle,  the  perfect  sage,  the  perfect  state,  etc.  But 
the  learned  author  did  not,  perhaps,  observe  that  the  word 
perfection  may  be  defined  in  two  ways:  sometimes  it  is 
used  as  an  ideal  model,  a  sort  of  d  priori  test  by  which  we 
figure  things  to  ourselves,  leaving  out  of  account  their  con- 
crete conditions  of  existence.  This  is  the  sense  in  which  the 
word  is  used  by  our  author,  and  so  he  is  quite  right  in  saying 
that  the  perfect  Being  is  an  imaginary  model  like  all  the 
others.  But  in  another  sense,  which  our  author  has  not 
sufficiently  considered,  and  which  was  the  Cartesian  sense, 
the  word  perfection  expresses  every  effective  quality  of 
things.  For  example,  intelligence  is  a  perfection,  liberty  is 
a  perfection;  in  a  lesser  degree,  love,  desire,  and  sensation 
are  perfections ;  even  extent,  so  far  as  it  has  reality,  is  called 
a  perfection,  in  the  Cartesian  terminology.  I  myself,  when 
establishing,  as  a  principle  of  moral  science,  excellence  or 


132  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

perfection,  did  not  understand  by  this  merely  an  ideal  model, 
but  an  effective  quality  of  objects  unequally  distributed 
among  them :  hence  I  admitted  that  there  are  relative  per- 
fections, and  that  some  degrees  of  perfection  are  superior 
to  others.  And  when  we  speak  of  the  progressive  evolution 
of  beings,  which  is  a  doctrine  dear  to  the  author  whom  we 
are  considering,  we  assume  thereby  that  nature  is  constantly 
perfecting  herself;  that,  to  use  Leibnitz'  expression,  she 
marches  from  perfection  to  perfection  is  an  endless  progress. 
Perfection  thus  understood  is  given  to  us  as  a  reality,  and 
not  merely  as  an  ideal;  it  is  not  opposed  to  reality  by 
a  necessary  antithesis,  but  it  is  reality  itself ;  and,  as 
Spinoza  has  said,  reality  and  perfection  are  one  and  the  same 
thing. 

Beings  are,  then,  distinguished  one  from  another  only  by 
their  degree  of  perfection,  and  they  have  precisely  as  much 
being  as  perfection.  Perfection  is  even  the  sole  effective 
content  which  the  idea  of  being  embraces.  Take  this  away, 
and  there  remains  the  empty  idea  of  existence,  or  the  dead 
idea  of  substance.  It  is  neither  existence  nor  substance 
which  constitutes  the  thing:  these  are  its  attributes,  and 
that  is  what  is  called  perfection.  The  nearer  you  approach 
to  the  absolute,  the  richer  and  more  complete  does  the  idea 
of  the  Being  become.  Absolute  Being  is  not  the  void,  but 
the  fulness.  It  is,  then,  perfection  itself;  and  moral  perfec- 
tion is  simply  the  progressive  participation  of  human  nature 
in  the  universal  and  sovereign  perfection. 

Thus,  setting  out  with  moral  science,  we  reach  with  Plato 
those  luminous  heights  to  which  he  was  the  first  to  conduct 
mankind,  and  which  can  never  be  lost  from  view  without 
losing  at  the  same  time  that  which  makes  the  joy  and  the 
glory  of  life,  which  gives  virtue  a  foundation,  not  only  be- 
cause she  finds  here  a  well-grounded  hope,  but  because  she 
feels  herself  freed  from  the  impious  doubt  which  pressed 
heavily  upon  her  so  long  as  she  inquired  whether  she  herself, 
like  the  passions,  were  not  a  folly  of  another  order,  and 


ABSOLUTE  GOOD.  133 

whether,  as  between  those  who  seek  the  good  and  those  who 
seek  pleasure,  the  wiser  ones  are  not  they  who  seek  utility. 

"  In  the  outer  limits  of  the  intelligible  world  [says  Plato]  is  the  idea 
of  good ;  an  idea  which  is  perceived  with  difficulty,  but  which,  when 
perceived,  compels  the  conclusion  that  it  is  the  ultimate  cause  of  every 
thing  beautiful  and  good  that  is  found  in  the  universe  :  that  in  the 
visible  world  it  produces  light,  and  the  star  from  which  this  directly 
comes ;  that  in  the  invisible  world  it  gives  rise  to  truth  and  intelligence ; 
anally,  that  we  must  have  our  eyes  steadfastly  fixed  upon  this  idea  if  we 
wish  to  conduct  ourselves  wisely  in  public  or  private  life." 1 

Let  us  briefly  summarize  the  results  of  our  analysis  of  the 
idea  of  good. 

We  have  distinguished  natural  or  essential  good  from  moral 
Oood.  The  latter,  as  Kant  has  shown,  can  be  only  the  con- 
sequence of  moral  obligation  or  of  duty :  the  former  is  its 
foundation. 

Th:s  first  book,  then,  treats  only  of  that  which  is  natu- 
rally and  essentially  good  —  good  in  itself. 

To  discover  the  nature  of  good  in  itself  we  began  with 
the  analysis  of  pleasure ;  pleasure  led  us  to  the  conception 
of  excellence  or  perfection,  and  this  to  the  conception  of 
happiness ;  and  we  have  defined  good  as  the  identity  of  happi- 
ness and  of  perfection  —  a  principle  which  embraces  all  the 
others,  the  principle  of  human  personality,  that  of  fraternity, 
that  of  the  universal  order,  that  of  the  imitation  of  God. 

In  fact,  since  God  is  the  source  of  all  excellence  and  all 
beatitude,  to  increase  in  one's  self  or  in  others  the  sum  of 
excellent  goods  is  to  approach  God,  it  is  to  imitate  him, 
which  is  impossible  without  loving  him.  It  is,  in  truth,  the 
love  of  absolute  good  which  renders  all  relative  goods  pleas- 
ing to  us. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  to  conform  one's  self  to  the  universal 

order ;  for,  without  knowing  any  thing  about  this  order,  we 

feel  assured  that  it  can  consist  only  in  the  unlimited  growth 

of  good.    It  is  also  to  conform  to  the  divine  will,  which  can 

i  Plato,  Repub.,  1.  vii. 


134  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 


be  nothing  else  than  the  love  of  good.  It  is  to  labor  to 
promote  the  general  interest,  for  the  true  perfection  and  the 
true  happiness  of  each  individual  are  found  in  the  perfection 
and  the  happiness  of  all. 

Finally,  it  is  to  develop  the  moral  person,  for  the  most 
excellent  thing  in  ourselves  and  in  others  is  personality,  and 
this  is  the  basis  of  our  true  happiness ;  for  happiness,  as  we 
have  seen,  consists  in  our  personal  excellence,  which,  again, 
is  inseparable  from  our  union  with  humanity  and  with  God. 

Thus  our  principle  satisfies  all  the  requirements  of  the 
moral  problem,  and  it  reconciles  all  theories.  But  there 
still  remains  the  task  of  testing  and  verifying  it  by  its 
consequences.  This  will  be  the  object  of  the  following 
investigations. 


BOOK  SECOND. 


THE    LAW    OE    DUTY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW. 

inROM  the  idea  of  good,  which  is  the  object,  the  aim,  the 
-*-  end,  of  human  actions,  we  pass  next  to  the  idea  of  duty, 
which  is  the  law,  the  rule,  and,  as  Kant  expresses  it,  the  form, 
of  these  same  actions.  From  that  part  of  moral  science 
which  we  have  called,  to  distinguish  it  clearly,  objective 
moral  science,  we  pass  to  that  other  part,  which,  for  the  same 
purpose,  we  will  call  formal  moral  science,  reserving  for  a 
third  part  of  this  treatise  the  study  of  the  subjective  con- 
ditions of  morality.  Doubtless  it  is  true  that  these  distinc- 
tions are  artificial,  and  are  based  upon  abstractions;  but 
these  abstractions  are  of  use  in  giving  precision  to  our  ideas. 
For  example,  the  law  of  duty  necessarily  presupposes  the 
existence  of  an  agent  capable  of  knowing  and  of  applying  it, 
endowed,  therefore,  with  conscience  and  with  liberty.  With- 
out such  subjective  conditions,  there  could  be  no  duty ;  but, 
nevertheless,  we  can  consider  the  law  of  our  actions  abstractly, 
without  taking  account  of  these  conditions.  Again,  there  is 
an  objective  element  in  the  idea  of  law ;  for  we  can  contem- 
plate it  in  itself,  in  its  universal  and  absolute  character, 
before  studying  it  in  the  human  conscience,  where  it  is  modi- 
fied by  the  degree  of  light  present,  and  by  the  feelings.  Thus 
the  formal  should  precede  the  subjective  in  the  analysis  of 
the  principles  of  morality.  Now,  this  form  or  rule  of  all  our 
actions  is  what  mankind  generally  calls  duty. 

Here  we  find  several  questions  to  be  considered :  First,  Is 
there  any  such  law  ?  Second,  In  what  does  it  consist  ?  what 
is  its  essence,  its  definition?     Third,  On  what  foundation 

137 


138  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

does  it  rest  ?  what  is  the  principle  of  that  which  is  generally 
called  moral  obligation  ? 

§  I.    Existence  of  the  Law  of  Duty. 

The  philosopher  Schopenhauer  claims  that  the  idea  of 
duty  should  be  eliminated  from  moral  science ;  that  it  is  a 
superficial  and  merely  popular  principle,  which  is  not  sup- 
ported by  any  really  philosophical  arguments.1  According 
to  him,  moral  science  is  not  a  practical  science,  as  it  has  been 
said  to  be  :  it  is  purely  theoretical.  Like  every  other  science, 
it  deals  with  that  which  is,  not  that  which  ought  to  be.  That 
which  is,  is  the  fact  that  there  are  good  men  and  bad  men. 
The  principle  of  good  is  the  pity  which  men  have  for  one 
another :  the  principle  of  evil  is  insensibility,  hardness  of 
heart,  cruelty.  Among  men,  some  are  born  with  humane 
sentiments,  others  with  selfish  ones.  Moral  science  describes 
the  habits  of  men,  just  as  natural  history  does  those  of  ani- 
mals :  there  are  good  and  bad  men,  just  as  there  are  sheep 
and  tigers.  It  also  determines  the  principle  of  approbation 
or  disapprobation,  which  is  nothing  but  sympathy.  But  it 
issues  no  commands,  it  gives  no  orders ;  for  the  idea  of  an 
order,  of  a  commandment,  involves  the  existence  of  an  im- 
possible free  will.  The  moral  law  is,  in  reality,  simply  a 
metaphysical  transformation  of  the  theological  principle  of 
the  divine  will.  Instead  of  a  God  who  commands,  you  have 
an  abstract  law,  a  formal  rule,  to  which  is  attributed  a  sort 
of  will,  and  which  is  made  to  say,  Sic  volo,  sic  jubeo,  like  an 
all-powerful  law-giver.  But,  if  one  is  going  to  admit  the 
existence  of  any  order  coming  from  on  high,  it  would  be 
more  rational  to  make  that  order  emanate  from  a  personal 
and  sovereign  will,  than  to  suppose  that  there  is  a  law  with- 
out any  legislator ;  "  suspended,"  as  Kant  has  said,  "  between 


1  Schopenhauer,  Die  beiden  Grundprobleme  der  Ethik,  Leipsic,  1860.  The 
same  philosopher  also  criticises,  and  even  hitterly  ridicules,  the  idea  of  dignity 
(die  Wurde),  which  plays  such  an  important  part  in  Kant's  philosophy,  regard- 
ing it  as  a  sentimental  and  anti-philosophical  idea. 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.      139 

heaven  and  earth,"  having  its  origin  neither  in  the  nature  of 
man  —  since  they  deny  that  it  is  derived  from  our  instincts 
—  nor  in  God ;  since  they  leave  in  suspense  the  question  of 
his  existence. 

I  myself  observed,  in  criticising  the  philosophy  of  Kant, 
that  it  seems  in  certain  respects  to  be  the  theological  doctrine 
of  absolute  decrees  under  a  new  form.  But  this  criticism 
applies  merely  to  the  special  form  in  which  Kant  has  ex- 
pressed the  doctrine  of  duty :  it  does  not  affect  the  idea  of 
duty  in  itself.  As  soon  as  one  admits  the  existence  of  good 
(in  whatever  way  it  may  be  defined),  one  cannot  refuse  to 
admit  also  that  this  good,  just  so  far  as  it  is  perceived  by 
human  consciousness,  is  obligatory,  and  becomes  a  duty.  Let 
us  suppose,  for  example,  with  Schopenhauer,  that  pity  is  the 
essential  principle  of  morals ;  suppose,  that,  since  all  men 
have,  as  he  maintains,  only  one  and  the  same  essence,  the 
good  of  others  is  our  own  individual  good :  then  I  say  that 
we  would  feel  ourselves  obliged  to  promote  the  good  of  other 
men,  or  at  the  least  to  prevent  them  from  suffering,  even 
when  our  passions  were  drawing  us  in  a  direction  contrary 
to  that  of  pity.  The  philosopher  is  as  much  exposed  to 
passions  as  other  men  are,  whether  to  vengeance,  envy,  or 
any  other.  Now,  if  such  a  passion  be  roused  within  him,  the 
feeling  of  pity  being  quiescent  or  obliterated,  while  yet  there 
exists  within  him  the  idea  of  that  which,  when  free  from 
passion,  he  considers  as  the  good,  so  long  as  this  idea 
remains,  however  feeble  may  be  his  pity,  however  strong  his 
anger,  it  is  impossible  that  he  should  feel  it  permissible  to 
yield  to  his  strongest  passion,  while  that  which  his  conscience 
tells  him  is  the  better,  remains  torpid.  But  to  say  that  it  is 
not  permissible,  is  the  same  as  saying  that  it  is  forbidden, 
which  implies  that  the  contrary  is  ordered,  commanded,  not 
by  an  arbitrary  will,  but  by  his  own  reason,  which  requires 
him  to  choose  that  which  appears  to  him  good  instead  of 
that  which  seems  worse,  whether  it  pleases  him  or  not,  and 
whether  he  does,  or  does  not,  feel  the  sentiments  which  har- 
monize with  this  obligation. 


140  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

No  moral  science  which  is  not  utilitarian  can  escape  the 
idea  of  moral  obligation.  For  even  if  the  good  was  at  the 
first  revealed  to  us  by  a  sentiment,  as  every  one  admits  that 
this  sentiment  is  not  always  of  equal  force,  that  it  has  its 
periods  of  intermittence,  of  languor,  and,  still  more,  that  it 
is  easily  overpowered  by  passion,  there  remains  in  the  ab- 
sence of  this  constraining  sentiment  an  idea  which  replaces 
and  recalls  it,  and  which,  in  spite  of  passion,  commands  and 
dictates ;  what  is  this  but  duty  ?  I  will  grant  that  at  first 
men  gave  the  name  of  good  to  actions  determined  by  sym- 
pathy, and  that  thus  they  formed  this  general  and  abstract 
idea,  that  good  consists,  in  general,  in  sympathizing  with 
the  sufferings  of  others.  But  from  this  general  principle  I 
deduce  this  rule :  Act  in  such  a  way  that  you  may  sympa- 
thize to  the  greatest  possible  extent  with  other  men.  When 
a  contrary  passion  arises  within  me,  this  rule  does  not  cease 
to  be  present ;  it  combats  within  me  the  claims  of  the  con- 
trary passion  ;  it  condemns  it,  and  by  so  doing  order 8  me  to 
reject  it.     It  is  a  categorical  imperative. 

To  reject  the  idea  of  duty  under  the  pretext  that  the  free 
will  is  impossible,  is  poor  reasoning,  for  we  do  not  know 
whether  a  free  will  is  possible  or  impossible;  but  we  do 
know  very  well,  that,  when  we  consider  a  good  action  (so  far 
as  we  recognize  it  as  such),  we  feel  ourselves  under  obliga- 
tion to  perform  it,  and  that,  when  we  consider  a  bad  action, 
we  feel  ourselves  obliged  to  abstain  from  it.  If  this  neces- 
sity implies  the  existence  of  a  free  will,  it  is  an  argument 
in  favor  of  it.  But  we  cannot  reason  conversely,  and  reject 
a  plainly  evident  truth  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  a  conse- 
quence which  is  metaphysically  disagreeable. 

Another  school,  that  of  Charles  Fourier,  which  gives  more 
attention  to  social  philosophy  than  to  strictly  moral  science, 
has  also  rejected  the  idea  of  duty  as  being  irrational,  and 
even  contrary  to  divine  wisdom  and  goodness.  What  a 
strange  idea  it  is,  says  Fourier,  to  maintain  that  God  has 
implanted  within  us  passions  in  order  that  we  may  repress 


\^v      or  the 


uNivgRsir 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL 

them ;  as  though  a  father  were  to  develop  vices 
so  that  he  may  afterwards  have  the  glory  of  overcoming 
them  !  What  could  be  less  in  conformity  with  the  economy 
of  divine  wisdom  than  to  create  a  self-contradictory  being, 
composed  of  two  natures,  one  of  which  is  commanded  to 
reduce  the  other  to  vassalage,  while  everywhere  else  in  the 
universe  we  see  unity  of  source  and  unity  of  action  ?  And 
it  would  not  be  so  bad  had  God  but  given  us  at  the  same 
time  efficacious  means  with  which  to  combat  them  !  But  we 
have  nothing  of  the  sort.  Every  one  knows  how  weak  is 
reason  in  the  presence  of  passion,  and  that  those  who  preach 
to  others  are  the  first  to  be  vanquished  in  this  struggle  with 
themselves.  The  worst  evil  is  not  their  weakness,  which 
comes  from  nature,  and  for  which  they  are  not  responsible, 
but  it  is  the  universal  hypocrisy  which  results  from  this  con- 
flict between  theory  and  practice  ;  since  all  have  continually 
on  their  lips  moral  maxims  which  they  sacrifice  without 
scruple  when  there  is  any  question  of  satisfying  their  pas- 
sions. Fourier  does  not  go  so  far  as  to  deny  that  there  may 
be,  exceptionally,  some  virtuous  men  on  the  earth.  But 
the  rarity  of  these  exceptions  proves  that  this  is  not  the 
true  destiny  of  the  human  race ;  for  would  so  many  millions 
of  men  have  been  created  in  order  that  an  imperceptible 
number  might  attain  the  end  ?  From  these  considerations 
Fourier  concludes  that  human  destiny  is  not  duty,  but  happi- 
ness, and  that  happiness  consists  in  the  perfect  satisfaction 
of  the  passions.  Only,  in  order  that  man  may  attain  this  free 
scope  without  injury  to  himself  or  to  others,  it  is  necessary 
to  discover  the  true  mechanism  of  the  play  of  the  passions; 
and  to  this  discovery  Fourier  devoted  himself.  Let  this 
mechanism  be  once  discovered,  and  set  in  operation,  and  man 
would  thenceforward  need  only  to  yield  to  his  natural  im- 
pulses, in  order  to  be  in  harmony  with  himself  and  with 
others ! 

It  is  clear  that  the  difficulty  of  this  problem  lies  in  the 
discovery  whether  there  is  any  such  passional   mechanism 


H2  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

that  men,  while  freely  yielding  to  their  passions,  may  yet  be 
in  harmony  with  themselves  and  with  society.  That  such  a 
mechanism  really  exists  can  be  shown  only  by  experience ; 
and,  until  it  is  thus  demonstrated,  no  one  is  obliged  to  be- 
lieve it.  Now,  if  we  examine  the  mechanism  which  Fourier 
thought  he  had  discovered,  we  see  that  it  consists  exclu- 
sively of  what  he  calls  "  la  serie  rivalisee,  engrenee  et  exaltSe  " 
(the  series  brought  into  rivalry,  supplied  with  work,  and 
ennobled)  —  in  a  word,  in  the  distribution  of  industrial 
labor,  according  to  vocations,  among  affiliated  groups,  rival- 
ling each  other  through  the  analogy  of  their  functions,  suc- 
ceeding each  other  in  labors  of  short  duration,  and  recipro- 
cally exchanging  their  members  according  to  the  diversity 
of  operations,  all  being  animated  in  their  work  by  the  com- 
bined attractions  of  the  senses  and  of  the  soul.  But,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  Utopian  and  artificial  character  of  such  com- 
binations, their  most  striking  feature  is  the  disproportion  of 
the  means  to  their  ends.  How  can  it  be  hoped  that  a  mere 
mechanical  disposition  of  groups  will  suffice  to  deprive  pas- 
sions of  all  their  sharpness,  to  prevent  one  from  desiring 
more  than  others,  and  more  than  properly  belongs  to  him, 
and  to  hinder  the  sensual  passions  from  ruling  over  the  in- 
clinations of  the  soul,  and  causing  man  to  descend  below  him- 
self? There  is  notably  one  passion,  that  of  love,  whose  free 
exercise  it  seems  impossible  to  imagine  save  as  producing  a 
warfare  of  each  against  all,  and  assailing  the  sweetest  and 
noblest  feelings  of  human  nature.  Doubtless  it  will  always 
be  wise  to  place  man,  so  far  as  it  is  possible,  in  such  an  envi- 
ronment, that  his  feelings  and  his  interests  will  be  in  accord 
with  his  duties ;  and  the  merit  of  difficulties  overcome  ought 
not  to  be  needlessly  sought  for  in  morals,  since  there  will 
always  remain  difficulties  enough  to  test  our  strength.  But 
that  any  exterior  mechanism  could  suffice  to  relieve  man 
from  all  necessity  for  effort,  and  make  him  free  to  enjoy  his 
nature  and  his  faculties,  like  the  tree  which  grows  and  the 
water  which  runs,  seems  contrary  to  all   experience ;  and, 


NATURE   AND  BASIS  OF   THE   MORAL  LAW.  143 

until  it  is  demonstrated  to  be  true,  it  should  be  regarded  as 
a  pure  chimera. 

Meantime,  until  this  paradisaical  state  is  attained,  what  is 
left  for  man,  if  not  to  distinguish  within  himself  what  he  has 
in  common  with  the  brutes,  from  that  which  distinguishes 
him  from  them  —  his  sensual  appetites  from  the  affections  of 
his  heart,  or  his  lofty  aspirations  toward  the  impersonal  goods 
of  the  true  and  the  beautiful?  Did  Fourier  himself,  to 
answer  him  by  an  argument  ad  hominem,  obey  a  purely  ani- 
mal instinct  when  he  devoted  his  modest  life  and  his  poverty 
to  cherishing  the  dream  which  might,  as  he  believed,  save 
humanity?  Thus  all  things  within  man  are  not  of  equal 
value :  the  passions  should  not  all  be  placed  on  the  same 
footing;  there  are  the  more  and  less  noble;  some  are  better 
than  others.  Since  this  is  so,  until  the  existence  of  that 
social  mechanism  which  is,  hypothetically,  to  relieve  me  of 
all  responsibility  (supposing  that  such  a  condition  were 
desirable,  which  question  I  will  not  investigate),  it  belongs 
to  me  to  make  the  better  sentiments  within  me  predominant 
over  those  that  are  worse ;  and  even  if  the  former  should  be, 
either  temporarily  or  habitually,  less  intense  in  me  than  the 
latter,  I  feel  myself  under  none  the  less  obligation  to  do  my 
utmost  to  bring  my  conduct  into  harmony  with  the  former, 
rather  than  with  the  latter.  In  other  words,  the  idea  of  good, 
rather  than  that  of  passion,  presents  itself  to  my  will  as  an 
ideal  which  I  cannot  ignore ;  and  this  necessity  of  a  special 
kind  is  precisely  what  is  called  duty ;  and  that  which  com- 
mands us  to  recognize  this  necessity  is  reason.  Now,  what 
contradiction  is  there  in  saying  that  an  intelligent  being  is 
commanded  by  the  Creator,  not  to  dry  up  within  himself  the 
very  springs  of  action  —  that  is  to  say,  the  passions,  which 
is  a  thing  no  reasonable  moralist  ever  maintained — but  to 
lift  himself  by  his  personal  efforts  from  a  lower  to  a  higher 
state,  like  a  man  who  starts  to  ascend  a  steep  mountain? 
And  whether  there  are  few  or  many  among  us  who  attain 
the  aim,  does  not  affect  the  nature  of  the  aim,  which  remains 


144.  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  same  for  all,  and  without  the  knowledge  of  which,  no  one 
would  attempt  to  approach  it.  As  to  the  responsibility  of 
each  one,  that  is  measured,  not  by  his  success,  but  by  the 
effort  which  he  makes:  now,  as  to  this  effort,  we  have  no 
means  of  measuring  that  which  is  made  by  other  men ;  we 
cannot  even  measure  that  which  is  made  by  ourselves. 
Hence  we  cannot  tell  how  much  virtue  there  is  in  humanity : 
and  this  is  of  little  importance,  since  we  are  not  called  upon 
to  judge,  but  to  act. 

It  is  not,  then,  difficult  to  demonstrate,  that,  in  the  actual 
state  of  the  human  consciousness,  there  is  something  which  is 
called  duty  —  that  is  to  say,  an  obligatory  rule  of  action;  but 
what  is  less  clear  and  simple  is  the  question  whether  the  idea 
of  duty  is  a  primitive  and  essential  idea  of  human  nature, 
founded  objectively  upon  the  nature  of  things,  and  not  rather 
an  acquired  idea,  born  of  civilization,  and  successively  trans- 
mitted, growing  by  habit,  and  by  the  authority  of  tradition. 

Some  have,  indeed,  attempted  to  show  that  the  idea  of  duty 
is  developed  in  a  purely  historical  way.1 

Mankind,  they  say,  began  by  yielding  to  their  senses  and 
their  appetites ;  but  no  long  time  was  needed  for  experience 
to  teach  them,  as  it  does  even  animals,  that  certain  things  are 
injurious,  although  agreeable  to  the  senses,  while  others  are 
useful,  though  they  are  painful  and  disagreeable.  Moreover, 
men  have  a  natural  sympathy  which  inclines  them  toward 
one  another;  and  they  spontaneously  obey  the  instinct  of 
kindness  and  of  pity.  From  this  twofold  source,  from  interest 
and  sympathy,  morals  were  born.  Men  became  accustomed 
to  abstain  from  certain  actions,  to  try  to  perform  others,  to 
approve  and  to  blame,  according  as  these  actions  were  in  con- 
formity with,  or  were  contrary  to,  sympathy  or  interest.  As 
mankind  is  gifted  with  the  faculty  of  making  abstractions  and 

i  This  is  the  theory  of  the  English  psychological  school,  of  Mill,  Bain,  etc., 
as  well  as  of  the  naturalists  who  seek  the  origin  of  morals  in  natural  history; 
Darwin  {Descent  of  Man),  Lubhock  {History  of  Civilization),  and  also  of  all 
biologists  who  advocate  more  or  less  strongly  the  ideas  of  positivism.  See  also 
the  remarkable  work  of  M.  Ribot,  Sur  V Iltrtditt  Psychologique.    Paris,  1873. 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.  145 

of  generalizing,  and  with  that  of  fixing  their  abstractions  in 
language,  certain  general  maxims  were  made,  certain  rules 
which  men  became  accustomed  to  obey ;  and  as  all  men,  or 
the  greater  part  of  them,  passed  through  the  same,  or  nearly 
the  same,  experiences,  the  same  practices  passed  from  one  to 
another.  Thus  men  formed  maxims  which  grew  more  and 
more  abstract  and  general ;  and  these  rules,  losing  more  and 
more  the  personal  and  individual  character  which  they  had 
at  first,  took  the  form  of  laws,  of  universal  and  impersonal 
principles.1  These  principles  were  transmitted  by  tradition 
as  self-evident  truths ;  and,  as  the  new  generations  were  not 
conscious  of  having  formed  this  sort  of  maxims  for  them- 
selves, from  their  own  personal  experience,  they  were  re- 
garded as  absolute  and  necessary  verities,  inherent  in  human 
nature  —  in  a  word,  as  innate  truths,  because  their  historical 
origin  had  been  lost  sight  of  in  the  night  of  time. 

It  is  thus  that  they  explain  the  universal  character  of  the 
idea  of  duty :  let  us  see  how  they  explain  its  obligatory  char- 
acter. 

When  men  had  formed  the  general  laws  of  which  we  speak, 
for  their  own  personal  benefit,  they  were  led  to  impart  them 
to  one  another;  for  it  is  well  known  that  men  readily  trans- 
form into  laws  their  personal  inclinations.  Now,  men  are 
either  equal  or  unequal :  if  they  are  equal,  they  give  each 
other  counsels  ;  but,  if  they  are  unequal,  they  give  each  other 
orders.  Thus,  for  example,  parents,  wishing  to  see  their 
children  escape  all  the  trials  and  miseries  through  which  they 
had  passed  themselves,  gave  them  beforehand  a  synopsis  of 
the  rules  of  experience ;  and  these  they  presented  in  the  form 
of  orders,  as  the  expression  of  an  imperative  necessity  which 
it  was  impossible  to  escape.  In  the  same  way,  the  chiefs  of 
peoples,  whether  legislators,  priests,  or  warriors,  having  an 

1  The  earliest  maxims  which  have  been  preserved  — such,  for  example,  as 
those  of  the  Grecian  sages,  of  the  gnomic  poets,  and  those  contained  in  the 
poems  of  Homer  and  of  Hesiod  (to  speak  only  of  Grecian  antiquity)  —  are  of 
this  sort. 


146  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

interest  in  the  preservation  of  the  society  of  which  they  were 
the  rulers,  either  for  self-interest  or  for  humanity's  sake,  pre- 
scribed, under  the  form  of  orders  and  laws,  every  thing  that 
experience  had  taught  to  them  and  to  their  fathers,  as  to  the 
means  of  preserving  life  and  making  it  happy.  Doubtless,  to 
these  maxims  of  general  interest  the  princes  of  the  people 
may  have  added  others,  which  concerned  only  their  individual 
interests,  and  which  were  even  directly  opposed  to  the  interest 
of  their  subjects.  This  is  very  probable,  and  is  even  demon- 
strated by  what  remains  to  us  of  these  primitive  codes ;  and 
the  philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century  took  occasion 
from  this  to  declare  that  these  first  founders  of  society  were 
only  hypocrites  and  tyrants.  But,  whatever  share  selfishness 
and  oppression  may  have  had  in  the  first  human  legislation, 
the  fact  that  these  societies  were  permanent  proves  that  the 
greater  number  of  these  primitive  laws  were  really  useful  to 
the  people ;  for  they  could  have  endured  only  by  virtue  of 
certain  conservative  principles,  and  these  are  the  principles 
which  afterwards  formed  the  basis  of  moral  science.  Finally, 
at  the  same  time  that  these  rules  of  wisdom  were  enjoined 
upon  the  family  by  domestic,  and  in  the  state  by  political, 
authority,  they  were  also  enjoined  by  religious  authority, 
which  in  those  early  days  was  not  distinct  from  the  politi- 
cal power ;  so  that  every  thing  which  man  holds  most  sacred 
—  the  father,  the  prince,  the  priest,  and  God  —  commanded 
the  same  things  at  the  same  time :  wise  men  disseminated 
and  communicated  these  rules  by  speech,  by  poetry,  and 
by  instruction.  Moral  laws  do  not,  then,  present  themselves 
merely  as  general  and  speculative  truths,  but  as  commands ; 
and  they  always  emanate  from  some  will,  either  sacred  or 
secular.  We  understand  very  well  to-day  what  power  the 
association  of  impressions  and  of  ideas  has  over  human  be- 
liefs. These  rules,  always  accompanied  by  orders,  assumed 
the  character  of  necessary  and  obligatory  laws.  Now  that 
we  have  forgotten  the  wills  which  at  first  commanded  them, 
we  still  continue  to  regard  them  as  commands;  and  as  they 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       147 

are  really  in  close  conformity  with  reason,  since  they  are  the 
result  of  a  long  and  unanimous  experience,  it  is  quite  natural 
that  we  should  regard  them  as  having  been  dictated  a  priori 
by  reason  itself  —  as  the  work  of  an  internal  legislation 
without  any  legislator.1 

It  is  unnecessary  to  recall,  in  support  of  this  interpretation, 
the  history  of  moral  ideas,  the  argument,  so  frequently  ap- 
pealed to,  of  their  fluctuations,  their  variability,  and  even  of 
their  contradictions  from  age  to  age,  among  one  people  and 
another.  As  a  matter  of  course,  these  facts,  so  often  quoted 
by  sceptics  as  arguments  against  the  existence  of  any  moral 
law,  can  and  will  be  equally  cited  for  the  support  of  every 
theory  which  for  any  reason  whatever  affirms  the  empirical 
origin  of  moral  ideas. 

This  historical  theory  of  duty  would  undoubtedly  have 
the  advantage  —  most  valuable  to  the  utilitarian  school  —  of 
explaining  how  the  empirical  origin  of  our  moral  maxims  has 
come  to  be  obscured  and  effaced  in  the  human  consciousness, 
and  how  principles  which  were  at  first  merely  relative  and 
conditional  rules,  have  developed  in  the  course  of  time  into 
universal  and  absolute  principles.  Such  a  transformation  is 
not  impossible.  But  it  must  be  admitted,  that,  just  so  soon 
as  it  is  ascertained  that  they  have  such  an  origin,  these  tradi- 

1  This  explanation  is  nearly  identical  with  that  given  by  Mr.  Kirchinann 
(Die  Grundbegriffe  des  Eechts  und  der  Moral,  18G9).  According  to  this  author, 
morality  originates  in  the  sentiment  of  respect  (Achtung)  which  man  feels  in 
the  presence  of  a  power  which  he  feels  to  be  immeasurably  stronger  than  him- 
self. This  power  becomes  for  him  an  authority  whose  commands  constitute 
the  moral  law.  These  authorities  may  be  reduced  to  four  —  that  of  God,  of  the 
prince,  of  the  people,  and  of  the  father  of  the  family.  All  morality  is  positive, 
and  is  based  solely  on  the  will  of  some  authority.  These  ideas  are  not  very 
novel.  Like  all  theories  of  this  kind,  they  destroy  morality  in  attempting  to 
explain  it;  and  upon  this  rock  they  suffer  shipwreck.  For  either  this  respect 
for  authority  is  an  instinct  of  a  kind  superior  to  the  other  instincts,  and  it  is 
this  very  superiority,  this  intrinsic  excellence,  which  forms  the  basis  of  moral- 
ity, in  which  case  it  is  not  derived  from  authority;  or  else  this  instinct  is  only 
a  feeling  like  the  others,  and  why  should  I  sacrifice  them  to  it  ?  Why  should 
I  make  my  interest  and  my  pleasure  subordinate  to  that  of  others  ?  There 
would  be  no  reason  whatever  for  doing  so.  The  increase  of  knowledge  should 
then  free  us  from  the  prejudices  and  tyranny  of  morality. 


148  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

tional  maxims  should  re-assume  their  primitive  character  of 
relative  and  individual  truths,  having  no  value  with  any  one 
except  such  as  he  thinks  proper  to  accord  to  them.  The 
hereditary  and  authoritative  transmission  of  the  idea  of  good 
and  of  evil  may  explain  the  habit  of  obedience,  but  it  cannot 
explain  its  actual  necessity.  The  traditional  command  of  all 
those  who  have  preceded  us  is  by  no  means  a  decisive  motive 
for  our  action.  Undoubtedly,  prudence  teaches  us  not  to  act 
in  opposition  to  ideas  which  have  been  accepted  for  a  long 
time,  and  it  will  always  be  wise  to  be  cautious  how  we  aban- 
don them.  But,  after  all,  I  have  a  right  to  examine,  and  to 
reject  after  examination,  those  rules  which  are  based  only 
upon  tradition  and  custom.  I  ought,  then,  to  be  able  to 
emancipate  myself  from  the  moral  law  and  the  authority  of 
duty,  just  as  the  world  has  emancipated  itself  in  politics  from 
the  idea  of  the  divine  right  of  kings,  and  in  philosophy  from 
the  authority  of  Aristotle. 

Now,  just  here  lies  the  power  of  duty,  that,  with  the  great- 
est desire  to  emancipate  ourselves  from  its  control,  we  cannot 
do  so,  but  we  continue  to  recognize  a  moral  truth :  we  require 
others  to  perform  duties,  and  recognize  our  own  obligation  to 
do  so  ;  we  do  not  wish  to  be  suspected  of  injustice,  of  cruelty, 
or  of  disloyalty.  Thus  the  authority  of  duty  still  exists,  even 
when  its  mystical  origin  has  been  denied  and  rejected.  This 
should  not  be  so :  the  idea  of  duty  ought  to  disappear,  like 
that  of  phlogiston.  Let  each  act  as  he  thinks  best:  this 
should  be  the  only  rule.  Nevertheless,  this  is  not  accepted. 
Each  wishes  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  moral  conscience  of 
mankind,  and  with  his  own  individual  conscience.  Such 
harmony  is  incomprehensible  if  duty  is  merely  the  result  of 
education  and  habit. 

Experience,  it  is  said,  has  taught  us  that  there  are  good 
men  and  wicked  men :  we  approve  of  the  former,  because 
they  do  good  to  us;  and  we  disapprove  of  the  others,  be- 
cause they  do  us  harm.  This  might  explain  why  we  do  not 
wish  other  people  to  be  wicked,  but  it  does  not  explain  why 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       149 

we  do  not  wish  to  be  so  ourselves.  Undoubtedly,  I  ought  to 
dread  bad  men  because  they  may  injure  me;  but  why  should 
I  dread  to  be  wicked  myself  ?  I  have,  for  instance,  a  pro- 
found aversion  to  the  shedding  of  human  blood :  hence  the 
idea  of  shedding  blood  is  terrible  to  me.  But  if  at  the  same 
time  I  have  a  desire,  an  ardent  desire,  to  possess  riches,  why 
do  I  say  that  the  former  of  these  two  instincts  is  of  an 
order  superior  to  the  second?  And,  if  I  do  say  this,  does 
it  not  at  once  follow  that  I  ought  to  prefer  it  ?  Thus  the 
idea  of  duty  is  explained  without  recourse  to  any  historical 
hypothesis.  If,  on  the  contrary,  I  maintain  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  primitive  and  essential  duty,  is  not  this  the 
same  as  saying  that  there  is  within  me  no  instinct  superior 
to  other  instincts ;  that  the  love  of  the  true,  or  of  the  beau- 
tiful, or  of  my  country,  or  my  parents,  or  my  children,  is  in 
no  way  superior  to  the  appetites  of  the  senses?  Hence  the 
only  rule  possible  would  be  this:  Yield  to  your  strongest 
appetite,  taking  precautions  against  any  unpleasant  conse- 
quences ;  or,  if  you  do  not  care  about  the  consequences,  do 
whatever  you  like. 

We  can  easily  imagine  a  state  of  society  in  which,  by  the 
development  of  the  arts  and  the  growing  complexity  of  civ- 
ilization, it  should  become  possible  to  combine  the  advan- 
tages of  vice  with  those  of  security  and  external  order.  For 
example,  it  is  certain  that  in  a  large  city  conjugal  infidelity 
has  a  thousand  ways  of  concealing  itself,  which  are  not  found 
in  a  small  town.  Thus  one  can  imagine  a  society  in  which 
marriage  would  preserve  all  its  material  and  external  advan- 
tages, while  a  very  great  license  of  manners  would  exist 
without  any  danger.  So,  too,  in  such  a  society,  there  are  a 
thousand  ways  of  making  money  pass  from  one  pocket  to 
another,  without  resorting  to  the  vulgar  methods  of  the  com- 
mon pickpocket.  So,  also,  there  may  be  ways  of  regulating 
and  directing  a  voluptuous  life  so  that  it  shall  not  cease  to 
be  voluptuous,  and  yet  shall  not  injure  the  health,  as  coarse 
debauchery  does.    If  men  should  thus  succeed,  little  by  little, 


150  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

by  means  of  art  and  experience,  in  escaping  the  greater  part 
of  the  disagreeable  consequences  which  the  traditional  wisdom 
of  nations  associates  with  what  is  called  vice,  what  criterion 
would  remain  by  which  the  Utilitarians  could  distinguish  vice 
from  virtue  ? 

Hence,  even  if  the  empirical  school  should  find  an  histor- 
ical explanation  of  the  idea  of  obligation,  it  would  always  fail 
to  meet  the  real  difficulty,  which  is  the  explanation  of  its 
existence  in  the  present  day.  To  say  that  this  idea  rests 
solely  upon  education  and  habit,  is  to  suppress  it  entirely. 
To  suppress  it,  is  to  destroy  all  law ;  and  destruction  is  not 
explanation. 

Moreover,  the  historical  evolution  of  the  idea  of  duty  is  no 
argument  against  its  reality.  We  do  not  need  to  call  in  the 
aid  of  natural  history  and  zoological  archaeology  to  show  that 
humanity  did  not  at  first  have  the  same  idea  of  duty  that  we 
have  at  the  present  time.  It  is  quite  sufficient  to  consider 
an  individual  man  —  the  germination,  the  unfolding,  the  de- 
velopment, of  moral  ideas  in  a  child.  We  know  that  every 
thing  begins  as  an  instinct :  we  know  that  habit  and  educa- 
tion unite  with  instinct  in  forming  and  developing  all  our 
ideas.  But,  though  an  idea  may  pass  through  a  certain  em- 
pirical evolution,  it  does  not  by  any  means  follow  that  it  is 
merely  its  resultant,  without  a  true  existence  of  its  own. 
Thus  it  may  be  granted  that  the  first  instincts  of  man  in  a 
primitive  state  are,  as  we  still  see  them  among  uncivilized 
peoples,  not  very  different  from  the  instincts  of  animals.  But 
that  which  characterizes  the  human  species  is  the  power  of 
raising  itself  above  this  state,  so  nearly  like  that  of  the  ani- 
mals, up  to  a  higher  plane,  and,  when  it  has  reached  this,  the 
ability  to  see  that  it  is  no  longer  permissible  to  fall  below  it  : 
this,  then,  is  duty.  Thus  the  more  closely  we  endeavor  to 
approximate  the  social  state  of  primitive  man  and  that  of  the 
animals,  the  more  clearly  do  we  bring  out  that  which  to-day 
raises  us  above  that  condition,  while  we  throw  into  higher 
relief  the  law  which  forbids  us  to  relapse  into  it. 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.  151 

It  should  also  be  observed,  that  this  zoological  theory  of 
morality  is  opposed  to  utilitarianism,  rather  than  favorable  to 
it ;  for,  in  the  animals  themselves,  we  observe  instincts  of  af- 
fection, and  devotion,  and  social  feelings,  by  which  the  indi- 
vidual seems  to  make  his  own  interest  subordinate  to  the  good 
of  another,  or  to  the  general  good.  Now,  if  this  is  true  of  an- 
imals, how  much  more  so  should  it  be  of  men,  who  are  capa- 
ble of  comprehending  the  beauty  and  excellence  of  the  social 
instincts,  and  their  superiority  to  those  which  are  selfish !  It 
is  the  characteristic  of  man  that  he  is  able  to  comprehend 
this  superiority ;  and,  when  once  he  has  understood  it,  he  can- 
not, without  self-reproach,  prefer  his  own  interest  to  that  of 
his  kindred,  his  friends,  his  country,  and  mankind.  What 
does  this  self-reproach  signify  ?  That  he  did  wrong  in  yield- 
ing to  his  selfishness.  Why  was  it  wrong  ?  Because  unself- 
ishness is  better.  But  this  explanation  does  not  suffice ;  since 
health  is  also  better  than  sickness,  and  yet  one  does  not  re- 
proach one's  self  for  being  ill.  I  blame  myself  only  for  that 
which  I  could  have  avoided.  But  even  this  is  not  enough ; 
for  though,  in  leaving  a  room,  I  may  set  my  right  foot  or  my 
left  foot  first,  I  do  not  therefore  blame  myself  for  doing  this 
in  one  way  rather  than  in  the  other.  In  fact,  I  blame  n^self 
only  for  that  which  I  might,  and  at  the  same  time  ought,  to 
have  avoided.  Duty  is  the  law  which  constrains  me  when- 
ever, by  means  of  my  reason,  I  have  comprehended  the  supe- 
riority of  one  sentiment  to  another,  of  the  general  good  to 
the  good  of  the  individual,  of  the  goods  of  the  soul  to  those 
of  the  body,  etc.  Thus  the  existence  of  the  law  of  duty  is 
not  made  doubtful,  even  should  it  be  shown  hypothetically 
that  the  germs  of  our  moral  instincts  exist  in  the  animals, 
which  I  do  not  think  has  yet  been  demonstrated.  But  even 
though  humanity  may  have  passed  through  a  stage  of  incu- 
bation, like  that  of  the  child  in  the  womb  of  its  mother,  or  of 
the  infant  in  the  cradle,  it  does  not  follow  that  this  primitive 
or  rudimentary  life  is  the  type  of  human  life  when  emanci- 
pated and  developed.    Moral  science  concerns  itself  with  man 


152  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

as  he  is,  and  not  as  he  might  have  been ;  and  within  this 
man  as  he  is,  we  find  the  germ  and  the  idea  of  that  which 
he  ought  to  be. 

Whatever  may  be  the  historical  origin  of  human  morality, 
let  us,  then,  admit  that  in  the  actual  consciousness  of  human- 
ity, or,  at  least,  in  that  of  the  noblest  groups  of  humanity, 
there  exists  the  idea  of  a  general  and  universal  form  for  our 
actions,  of  a  law  which  claims  control  of  the  reason,  and  com- 
mands the  will.  Let  us  examine  a  little  more  closely  the 
nature  of  this  law,  its  basis  and  its  character. 

§  II.   Of  the  Nature  of  Duty. 

Duty,  says  Kant,  is  "  the  necessity  of  obedience  to  the  law 
from  respect  for  the  law."  This  fine  definition  should  be  re- 
tained in  science  as  the  most  exact  expression  of  the  moral 
law  which  has  ever  been  given.  Let  us  try  to  understand  it 
thoroughly.    <^c    | 

By  law  I  mean  a  constant  rule  according  to  which  actions 
or  phenomena  are  produced,  or  should  be  produced :  the  first 
is  true  if  the  agent  is  not  free;  the  second  if  he  is  free,  and  is 
able,  consequently,  to  violate  the  law.  To  the  first  class  be- 
long all  physical  and  natural  laws.  Man,  as  a  physical  being, 
is  subject  to  a  great  many  laws  of  this  sort ;  moreover,  as  a 
member  of  society,  he  is  subject  to  civil  and  political  laws ; 
as  an  intellectual  being,  he  is  subject  to  psychological  and 
logical  laws ;  finally,  as  a  free  and  voluntary  agent,  he  is  sub- 
ject to  the  law  of  interest,  properly  understood,  and  to  the 
moral  law.  Here  we  have  many  distinct  laws.  Now,  if  we 
ask  how  a  moral  law  is  distinguished  from  all  the  others 
which  have  been  mentioned,  and  why  we  cannot  confound 
it  with  any  other  (or  why  it  is  a  primitive  idea  in  the  con- 
sciousness), we  find  that  the  essential  characteristic  of  this 
law  is,  that,  in  acting  according  to  it,  we  are  obliged  to  have 
no  motive  but  the  law  itself.  This  is  not  true  of  the  other 
laws;  and  this  special  and  original  characteristic  of  the 
moral  law,  or  the  law  of  duty,  is  what  is  called  obligation. 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.  153 

If  we  consider  physical  laws,  for  example,  we  shall  see 
that  they  are  inevitably  carried  out,  though  the  agent  is  not 
compelled  to  know  them,  nor,  consequently,  to  respect  them. 
When  bodies  fall,  they  do  not  do  so  out  of  respect  for  the 
law  of  gravitation,  for  they  do  not  know  this  law :  even  when 
they  come  to  a  knowledge  of  it  (as  is  the  case  with  mankind), 
they  will  continue  to  fall  with  a  speed  which  is  uniformly 
accelerated  without  any  regard  to  their  knowledge.  This 
law,  properly  speaking,  is  not  the  reason  of  the  action,  but 
merely  its  expression.  Bodies  are  what  they  are,  and  they 
act  according  to  that  which  they  are :  the  constant  mode  of 
this  action  we  call  a  law. 

Man,  in  so  far  as  he  is  a  physical  being,  is  subject  to  all 
the  laws  of  nature,  like  all  the  other  beings  in  the  universe : 
like  them,  he  obeys  perfectly,  but  not  out  of  respect  for 
them,  these  laws  which  he  cannot  infringe  upon.  The  same 
is  true  of  psychological  laws.  These  laws  merely  express  the 
nature  of  the  soul:  they  are  not  commands  laid  upon  the 
will.  Thus  they  are  fulfilled  spontaneously  and  inevitably ; 
they  express  a  necessary  and  inviolable  order  (at  least,  when 
free  will  does  not  intervene)  ;  they  have  nothing  to  do  with 
respect  for  the  law.  As  to  the  laws  of  logic,  they  are  either 
the  ideal  laws  of  intelligence,  considered  solely  by  itself,  freed 
from  all  the  accidents  of  sensibility  and  passion,  and  in  this 
case  are  like  the  laws  of  geometry ;  or  else  they  are  precepts 
by  whose  aid  the  will  advances  toward  the  ideal  goal  of  intel- 
ligence, in  which  case  they  are  technical  laws,  or  reasons  for 
action.  Here  rises  again  the  question  ;  When  we  obey  logi- 
cal laws  —  that  is,  the  rules  of  method — do  we  obey  them  out 
of  respect  for  the  law  ?  Not  at  all.  If  we  obey  the  laws  of 
method,  it  is  because  they  are  the  necessary  means  for  attain- 
ing truth.  We  accept  them  as  means,  not  as  ends.  But,  you 
say,  I  ought  to  obey  the  laws  of  logic  for  their  own  sake,  even 
if  I  do  not  attain  my  end.     Granted ; 1  but  here  we  pass  from 

1  Yet  with  some  qualification,  for  it  is  permissible  to  rise  above  these 
rules  when  it  is  possible  to  do  so.    Most  scientific  men  make  their  discoveries 


154  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  domain  of  logic  to  that  of  morals.  It  is  morality  which 
commands  me  to  follow  the  laws  of  logic :  from  this  point  of 
view  I  ought  to  do  every  thing  I  possibly  can  to  avoid  error, 
whatever  may  be  the  result.  But,  from  the  stand-point  of 
logic,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  these  results  that  I  should  employ 
the  best  means.  To  practice  the  method  for  its  own  sake 
merely,  would  be  a  fruitless  and  contradictory  operation.1 

If  we  pass  from  psychological  and  logical  laws  to  those 
which  are  exterior,  to  civil  and  positive  laws,  we  find  here 
also  rules  for  action :  they  are  not  merely  logical  or  physical 
necessities,  but  are  orders,  and,  consequently,  rules,  which 
may  be  fulfilled  or  disobeyed,  which  lay  imperative  com- 
mands upon  the  will.  The  question  now  rises,  whether  this 
kind  of  laws  should  be  obeyed  for  their  own  sake,  or  for  any 
other  reason.  Plainly,  so  far  as  the  civil  law  and  those  who 
represent  it  are  concerned,  it  is  a  matter  of  utter  indifference 
whether  it  is  obeyed  for  one  reason  or  for  another,  so  long  as 
it  is  obeyed.  It  matters  little  whether  it  is  through  fear  of 
punishment,  fear  of  disgrace,  love  of  safety,  or  love  of  our 
fellow-creatures.  The  civil  law  cannot  see  into  the  con- 
science. If  all  the  citizens  obey  the  law,  and  peace  reigns 
among  them,  it  asks  no  more. 

However,  ought  we  not  to  obey  even  civil  laws  out  of  re- 
spect for  them  ?  Would  he  not  be  a  bad  citizen  who  should 
see  in  the  law  only  a  material  means  of  escaping  evil  ?  Yes, 
undoubtedly ;  but  here,  as  with  the  laws  of  logic,  we  take 
the  moral  point  of  view.  It  is  morality  which  commands 
us  to  obey  civil  laws  independently  of  their  results,  because 
they  are  laws:  it  is  morality  which  commands  the  citizen 
to  be  something  more  than  the  obedient  slave  of  the  law 
—  to  be  its  free  and  enlightened  representative.  Thus  it  is 
moral  law  which  lends  to  civil  law  its  majestic  authority. 

by  inspiration,  much  more  than  by  rule.  Here  a  strict  formalism  would  be 
simply  ridiculous.  The  same  is  true  of  the  laws  of  medicine.  One  would 
prefer  to  be  cured  contrary  to  rules,  rather  than  to  die  in  accordance  with  them. 
Finally,  this  is  true  also  of  the  laws  of  poetry  or  rhetoric. 

1  Of  course,  I  except  the  case  in  which  what  I  am  seeking  for  is  the  dis- 
covery of  a  method. 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       155 

We  have  still  to  distinguish  the  moral  law  from  the  other 
internal  rules  of  action,  which  may  all  be  classed  under  the 
law  of  interest,  properly  defined.  Now,  if  we  make  this 
comparison,  we  shall  see  clearly,  as  Kant  has  plainly  demon- 
strated, that  these  —  for  example,  the  laws  of  prudence,  of 
skill,  of  interest  properly  understood  —  are  never  obeyed  for 
their  own  sake,  but  always  for  the  sake  of  some  aim  which 
they  endeavor  to  attain,  while  moral  law  commands  for  its 
own  sake  without  reference  to  any  foreign  end.  Hence 
comes  the  celebrated  distinction  established  by  Kant  between 
hypothetical  or  conditional  imperatives  —  that  is  to  say,  rules 
which  prescribe  an  action  merely  with  relation  to  an  end  — 
and  categorical  imperatives,  which  command  absolutely,  with- 
out regard  to  any  end. 

Here  we  suddenly  encounter  a  serious  difficulty.  In  the 
first  part  of  this  treatise  we  contested  what  has  been  called 
the  formalism  of  Kant;  that  is  to  say,  that  fundamental 
proposition  of  his  philosophy,  "  that  the  principle  of  morality 
commands  by  its  form,  and  not  by  its  substance."  But  does 
this  principle  differ  in  any  way  from  the  very  formula  of  the 
categorical  imperative  ?  For  example,  if  we  say ;  "  Do  right, 
whatever  may  be  the  result,"  do  we  not  set  aside  all  consid- 
eration of  aims,  and  take  the  law  itself  for  an  end  ?  If  we 
say  that  law  should  be  obeyed  from  respect  for  the  law,  is 
not  this  in  reality  obeying  the  form  of  the  law,  and  not  its 
substance  ?  Suppose  that  the  motive  of  your  action  is  drawn 
from  the  very  thing  which  you  will  realize  by  this  action,  is 
it  not  true  that  the  law  will  then  be  only  a  means  by  which 
to  attain  this  end,  whatever  it  may  be,  whether  personal 
or  impersonal,  rational  or  empirical  ?  Take,  if  you  will,  the 
conception  of  perfection.  If  this  conception  is  the  real  mo- 
tive for  your  action,  the  formula  will  no  longer  be,  Do  right, 
in  an  absolute  and  categorical  manner,  but,  Do  right  if  you 
wish  to  be  perfect.  The  imperative  is  then  no  longer  categori- 
cal, but  becomes  hypothetical ;  and  I  can  emancipate  myself 
from  the  precept  by  freeing  myself  from  the  condition.     The 


156  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

law  is  no  longer  an  end,  it  is  only  a  means ;  and  the  essential 
character  of  duty  seems  to  vanish  as  we  approach.  If  in- 
stead of  perfection  we  take  the  conception  of  happiness,  even 
in  the  most  exalted  meaning  of  the  word — for  example, 
celestial  happiness  —  then  it  is  still  more  evident  that  duty, 
will  be  only  a  means,  just  as  interest  is ;  or,  rather,  it  will 
become  identified  with  interest. 

These  considerations,  however  forcible  they  may  appear  to 
be,  do  not,  in  my  opinion,  counterbalance  those  which  we 
have  already  expressed  as  to  the  impossibility  of  absolute 
formalism  in  morality.  Recall,  first,  what  has  already  been 
noted,  that  Kant  himself,  whatever  he  may  say,  does  not 
hold  fast  to  this  absolute  formalism ;  for,  after  having  consid- 
ered the  imperative  in  its  form,  he  considers  it  also  in  its 
substance  :  he  admits  subjective  (empirical)  ends  and  objec- 
tive ends.  He  admits  that  the  categorical  imperative  assumes 
"that  there  is  something  whose  existence  has  in  itself  an 
absolute  value,  and  which  is  an  end  in  itself :  in  this  will  be 
found  the  basis  of  the  categorical  imperative."  He  discovers 
that  humanity,  and  every  reasonable  being  in  general,  is  an 
end  in  itself.  And  he  draws  thence  this  second  formula  ; 
"Act  in  such  a  way  as  always  to  treat  humanity,  whether 
in  your  own  person  or  in  that  of  another,  as  an  end,  and 
never  make  use  of  it  as  a  means."  Now,  whatever  term  of 
dialectics  may  be  used,  it  is  impossible  to  regard  as  identical 
these  two  formulas  of  Kant — one  affirming  the  universality 
of  law,  the  other  affirming  humanity  to  be  an  end  in  itself. 
The  first  is  purely  formal,  and  the  second  is  material.  Un- 
doubtedly, Kant  started  with  the  idea  that  there  is  no  abso- 
lute good  but  the  good  will  —  that  is  to  say,  a  will  to  act  out 
of  respect  for  the  law;  and  he  concluded  from  this  that 
such  a  will,  having  an  absolute  value,  is  an  end  in  itself. 
But  the  good  will  which  obeys  the  law  is  not  the  same  thing 
as  that  ideal  good  will  which  is  identified  with  the  law  itself, 
and  which  is  the  essence  of  the  reasonable  being,  and  there- 
fore an  end  in  itself.     This  second  good  will  is  an  object,  an 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       157 

ideal,  which  it  is  the  duty  of  the  former  to  make  real.  The 
good  will  has,  then,  an  end  which  is  not  itself,  which  is  — 
if  you  choose  to  say  so — its  true  essence,  but  yet  its  ideal 
essence,  which  should  not  be  confounded  with  it. 

But  let  us  leave  aside  this  argument  ad  hominem :  we  say 
that  the  doctrine  of  duty  does  not  require,  as  Kant  supposed, 
a  law  without  substance  and  without  end.  In  reality,  if  we 
look  closely,  we  shall  see  that  every  categorical  imperative  is 
actually  a  hypothetical  imperative,  just  as  much  as  are  the 
rules  of  interest  and  of  prudence.  "Thou  shalt  not  lie," 
the  moral  law  says  to  me.  This,  it  is  said,  is  a  command 
without  condition.  Not  at  all.  There  is  something  under- 
stood :  "  Thou  shalt  not  lie,  if  thou  desirest  to  act  as 
becomes  a  human  creature."  "  Thou  shalt  not  get  drunk,  if 
thou  dost  not  desire  to  be  a  brute."  Finally,  the  condition 
which  is  always  understood  in  each  categorical  imperative  is 
the  excellence  of  human  personality,  considered  as  an  end 
in  itself.  Imagine,  for  example,  a  person  who  is  indifferent 
to  this  end,  who  does  not  care  for  human  dignity,  who  has 
no  repugnance  to  the  life  of  brutes :  the  categorical  impera- 
tive would  have  no  power  over  him,  and  there  would  be  no 
way  in  which  to  make  him  comprehend  the  necessity  for 
practising  the  right. 

This  is  what  Fe*nelon  seems  to  have  desired  to  show  in  the 
profound  and  witty  dialogue  between  Ulysses  and  Gryllus. 
The  latter,  whom  Circe  had  transformed  into  a  hog,  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  resume  his  former  shape.  Ulysses 
speaks  thus  to  him :  "  If  you  had  any  feeling  at  all,  you 
would  be  only  too  happy  to  become  a  man  again."  Gryllus: 
"I  don't  care  for  that.  The  life  of  a  hog  is  much  pleasanter." 
Ulysses :  "  Are  you  not  shocked  yourself  at  such  baseness  ? 
You  live  only  on  filth."  Gryllus  :  "  What  does  it  matter  ? 
Every  thing  depends  on  one's  taste."  Ulysses :  "  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  you  have  so  soon  forgotten  every  noble  and  advan- 
tageous gift  of  humanity  ?  "  Gryllus  :  "  Do  not  talk  to  me 
of  humanity :   its   nobility   is   only   imaginary."       Ulysses : 


158  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

"  But  you,  then,  count  as  nothing  eloquence,  poetry,  music, 
science,  etc.  ?  "  Grryllus  :  "  My  temperament,  as  a  hog,  is  so 
happy,  that  it  raises  me  above  all  those  fine  things.  I  like 
better  to  grunt  than  to  be  eloquent  in  your  way."  Ulysses : 
"  I  am  overcome  with  surprise  at  your  stupidity."  Grryllus : 
"A  great  marvel  that  a  hog  should  be  stupid!  Let  each 
keep  to  his  own  nature."  Such  a  dialogue  might  easily  be 
indefinitely  prolonged.  No  moral  law  would  be  possible  for 
one  who  cared  nothing  for  human  dignity,  and  who  was 
willing  to  sacrifice  it.  Such  a  one  could  be  punished  and 
crushed,  but  not  persuaded. 

The  difference  between  the  two  classes  of  imperatives  rec- 
ognized by  Kant,  does  not,  then,  arise,  as  has  been  supposed, 
from  there  being,  on  the  one  hand,  a  condition,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  none  at  all.  No :  every  imperative  must  have 
a  reason,  and  consequently  a  condition.  Only  in  one  of 
these  two  cases  the  condition  is  such  that  one  may  at  any 
time  cast  it  off;  while,  in  the  other,  one  can  never  do  this. 
"  Do  thus,  if  you  wish  to  be  rich."  But  I  may  wish  not  to 
be  rich ;  and,  in  relinquishing  the  end,  I  shall  also  relinquish 
the  means.  On  the  contrary,  "  Do  thus,  if  you  wish  to  be 
a  man."  I  cannot  but  wish  to  be  a  man.  Undoubtedly  my 
lower  desires,  my  passion,  my  caprice,  may  emancipate  them- 
selves from  this  condition ;  but  my  higher  desires,  my  true 
will,  what  is  called  my  conscience,  cannot  do  so.  Now,  a 
command  depending  on  a  condition  from  which  one  cannot 
free  one's  self,  is  plainly  equivalent  to  a  command  without 
any  condition.  Kant  was,  then,  perfectly  correct  in  distin- 
guishing the  two  classes  of  imperatives ;  and  it  is  quite  true 
that  one  of  these  is  categorical.  One  class  is,  then,  relative, 
and  the  other  absolute. 

In  my  theory  this  distinction  exists,  but  I  explain  it  differ- 
ently. There  are  two  classes  of  objects  —  one,  that  of  exte- 
rior or  corporal  goods,  which  have  a  value  only  in  proportion 
to  the  pleasure  which  they  procure  for  us,  or  the  desires 
which  they  excite;  the  other,  comprising  the  goods  of  the 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       159 

soul,  which  have  a  value  in  themselves,  and  possess  an  intrin- 
sic excellence  independent  of  our  desires.  The  ancients  were 
familiar  with  this  distinction.  Aristotle,  in  particular,  always 
distinguishes  between  that  which  should  be  sought  for  the 
sake  of  something  else  (ei/eKa  iripov  nvos),  and  that  which 
should  be  sought  for  its  own  sake  (avrov  Iv€ko).  The  former 
are  only  the  means  for  the  satisfaction  of  our  desires:  the 
latter  are  ends  in  themselves. 

Now,  these  two  classes  of  objects  may  be  called  goods: 
the  one  class  will  be  relative  goods,  the  other  will  be  absolute 
goods.  As  to  the  former,  it  is  for  me  to  decide  whether  I 
will  seek  them,  or  not ;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  they  are  relative 
to  my  sensibility,  which  is  entirely  individual,  and,  on  the 
other,  I  may  always  deprive  myself  of  a  certain  pleasure  if 
I  see  fit  to  do  so.  From  this  point  of  view,  no  maxim  of 
interest  has  the  character  of  a  command ;  for,  if  you  love  a 
thing,  it  does  not  follow  that  I  will  love  it.  Besides,  I  am 
always  free  to  renounce  any  thing  that  I  love,  were  it  only 
to  prove  to  myself  that  I  can  do  as  I  like. 

It  is  not  the  same  with  those  objects  which  I  regard 
as  excellent  in  themselves,  independently  of  my  pleasure. 
Truth,  modesty,  dignity,  beneficence,  liberty,  are  goods  which 
it  is  not  in  my  power  to  sacrifice  to  my  individual  pleasure. 
They  are  such  that  I  cannot  help  wishing  for  them,  even 
when  they  would  be  painful  to  my  passions.  These,  then, 
are  desirable  for  their  own  sake,  propter  sese  expetenda. 

Kant's  definition,  "  Duty  is  the  necessity  of  obedience  to 
the  law  from  respect  for  the  law,"  is,  then,  absolutely  correct. 
Only,  when  we  speak  of  the  moral  law,  we  do  not  mean  an 
abstract  command  founded  on  no  reason,  like  a  military 
order,  but  a  command  accompanied  by  its  motive,  its  reason, 
its  condition,  either  expressed  or  understood.  "  Be  sincere, 
if  you  desire  to  respect  the  intelligence  within  you,  which  is 
made  for  truth."  "  Be  sober,  if  you  wish  to  be  a  man,  and 
not  a  brute."  Duty  requires  us  to  obey  this  entire  law,  com- 
prising the  condition,  and  needs  no  other  motive  than  that 


160  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

which  is  expressed  in  the  law.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  per- 
form the  same  actions  through  fear  or  through  hope,  we  no 
longer  perform  them  out  of  respect  for  the  law,  and  they  at 
once  lose  the  character  of  morality. 

From  all  these  considerations,  we  must  conclude  that  the 
popular  saying  ;  "  Do  your  duty,  whatever  may  be  the  result," 
signifies  merely;  "Do  your  duty  without  considering  the  agree- 
able or  disagreeable  consequences  that  may  result."  Were 
it  to  be  understood  differently,  and  in  too  literal  a  sense,  one 
might  do  one's  duty  without  considering  properly  whether 
it  really  were  one's  duty.  The  will,  or  the  moral  intention, 
being  the  sole  element  of  morality,  and  all  internal  or  exter- 
nal aims  being  set  aside,  it  would  not  matter  whether  one 
performed  one  action  or  another,  and  all  moral  standards 
would  disappear.  Thus  formalism  in  morals  would  lead  to 
fanaticism  or  to  quietism.  The  maxim,  fiat  justitia,  pereat 
mundus,  is,  in  itself,  the  refutation  of  moral  formalism  by 
absurdity. 

The  essential  characteristics  of  duty  arise  from  its  nature. 
We  may,  with  Kant,  include  them  under  two  heads.  Duty 
is  absolute  ;  that  is  to  say,  its  commands  are  without  restric- 
tions, and  it  admits  of  no  exception  drawn  from  the  interests 
of  the  agent.  It  is  universal;  that  is  to  say,  it  gives  the 
same  commands  to  all  men  under  the  same  circumstances. 

The  first  of  these  characteristics  is  deduced  directly  from 
the  very  idea  of  duty ;  for  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as 
duty  were  there  not  something  superior  to  the  individual, 
serving  as  his  model  or  aim.  Now,  this  model  should  not 
accommodate  itself  to  the  inclinations  of  the  individual,  but 
the  individual  should  mould  himself  into  the  likeness  of  the 
model.  The  term  "  model  "  implies  something  fixed,  which 
does  not  change  according  to  the  state  of  the  one  who  imi- 
tates it:  hence  the  law  which  commands  us  to  imitate  it 
partakes  of  the  fixity  and  immobility  of  the  model  itself; 
consequently  it  is  absolute.  If  it  were  to  be  modified 
according  to  the  subjective  inclinations  of  the  agent  —  that 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       165 

duty  may  be  in  any  given  circumstances,  it  is  nevertheless 
universal,  in  the  sense  that  I  should  demand  of  any  other 
man  placed  in  the  same  conditions,  that  he  should  receive  it 
as  a  maxim  and  a  law. 

§  III.    The  Foundation  of  Moral  Obligation, 

We  have  already  considered :  First,  The  existence  of 
duty ;  Second,  Its  nature  and  character.  It  now  remains  for 
us  to  examine  its  foundation. 

It  is  generally  said,  and  I  have  also  stated,  that  it  is  an 
essential  characteristic  of  good  that  it  is  obligatory,  and 
that  we  cannot  form  the  conception  of  a  good  action  with- 
out immediately  feeling  that  it  is  our  duty  to  perform  it. 
Good  implies  obligation,  and  it  is  just  as  necessary  that 
good  should  be  obligatory,  as  that  a  straight  line  should  be 
the  shortest  distance  from  one  point  to  another.1  But  in 
many  minds  this  connection  is  not  direct,  and  may  be  over- 
looked. If  my  intelligence  conceives  of  a  thing  as  good, 
it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  I  am  commanded  and 
obliged  to  accomplish  it.  This  will  be  clearly  seen  if  we 
consider  the  different  ideas  of  good  which  philosophers  have 
entertained. 

If  it  is  said,  for  example,  that  good  is  conformity  to  the 
universal  order,  I  grant  that  the  universal  order  is  good,  and 
that  it  would  be  very  good  to  have  this  order  maintained. 
But  why  am  I  called  upon  to  promote  this?  This  order 
may  maintain  itself  —  I  am  perfectly  willing ;  but  why  and 
how  am  I  required  to  effect  it  ?  I  did  not  establish  it :  I  am 
not  responsible  for  it.  I  will  conform  to  it  so  far  as  it  agrees 
with  my  own  interests ;  but  if  it  opposes  me,  if  it  oppresses 
me,  for  what  reason  should  I  sacrifice  myself  to  it? 

If  good  is  made  to  consist,  as  Clarke  and  Wollaston  say 
it  does,  in  certain  eternal  and  necessary  relations,  resulting 

1  Here  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  question  whether  the  domain  of 
good  is  more  extended  than  that  of  duty,  which  we  will  discuss  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter,  hut  whether  good  in  general  is  obligatory,  and  why  it  is  so. 


166  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

from  the  nature  of  things  in  the  same  way  as  the  truths  of 
geometry,  can  any  one  tell  me  why  I  should  be  under  obliga- 
tion to  realize  some,  and  not  others  ?  When  I  draw  a  tri- 
angle, is  it  my  duty  to  make  it  so  that  its  three  angles  shall 
be  equal  to  two  right  angles,  or  to  make  a  square  upon  the 
base  of  a  rectangle  which  shall  be  equal  to  the  sum  of  two 
other  squares  erected  upon  its  sides?  Not  at  all.  Why, 
then,  do  certain  relations  exercise  a  constraint  over  my  will, 
while  others  do  not  ?  And  what  duty  do  I  owe  to  the  nature 
of  things? 

It  is  the  same  in  regard  to  the  principle  of  interest.  Why 
should  I,  because  I  am  a  part  of  society,  be  required  to  sac- 
rifice my  own  good  to  that  of  the  community  ?  Let  the 
community  take  care  of  itself!  It  is  not  my  business  to 
protect  it. 

From  these  illustrations,  we  see  that  we  are  capable  of 
comprehending  the  idea  of  good,  and  yet  of  separating  it 
from  any  idea  of  obligation.  We  do  this  daily,  in  very 
exalted,  very  noble,  and  very  difficult,  actions.  Obligation 
does  not,  then,  appear  at  first  sight  to  be  the  immediate 
consequence  of  good.  The  judgment  which  connects  obli- 
gation and  good  is,  then,  synthetic,  not  analytic :  obligation 
is  added  to  good,  not  deduced  from  it. 

Some  philosophers  have  thought  it  possible  to  call  in  the 
principle  of  the  divine  will  in  order  to  settle  this  difficulty. 

•This  principle  of  the  divine  will  may  be  understood  in  two 
ways.  Either  it  is  the  divine  will  which  creates  the  distinc- 
tion between  good  and  evil,  between  justice  and  injustice, 
which  is  the  theory  of  Hobbes  and  Crusius,  or  else  the  divine 
will  is  not  the  cause  of  the  good  itself,  but  only  of  the  obli- 
gation. Good  is  not  good,  it  is  said,  because  it  is  what  God 
wishes;  it  is  good  by  its  very  essence;  but  good  becomes 
obligatory  by  the  command  and  the  will  of  God.  This  is 
the  theory  of  Puffendorf.1 

1  M.  l£mile  Beaussire,  in  a  work  on  the  Fondement  de  V  Obligation  Morale 
(Paris,  1853),  has  advocated  the  opinion  of  Puffendorf  with  ability  and  force. 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       167 

It  is  easy  to  apprehend  the  difference  between  these  two 
theories.  According  to  the  first,  the  distinction  between 
good  and  evil  is  arbitrary,  and  depends  solely  on  the  free 
will  of  an  all-powerful  being,  who  might  have  made  good 
evil,  and  evil  good.  This  has  been  expressly  declared  by 
some  theologians,  even  by  the  wise  and  pious  Gerson :  — 

"God  [he  says]  does  not  require  certain  actions  because  they  are 
good,  but  they  are  good  because  he  requires  them:  just  as  others  are 
evil  because  he  forbids  them."  * 

The  second  theory,  on  the  contrary,  does  not  maintain 
that  good  is  arbitrary,  and  dependent  entirely  on  the  divine 
will.  But  it  declares  that  without  a  command  from  God, 
the  absolute  idea  of  good  would  not  suffice  to  lay  any 
obligation  upon  us. 

"  Good  alone  [it  is  said]  is  obligatory ;  but  there  are  actions,  some  of 
which  are  among  the  best,  which  we  are  not  obliged  to  perform,  and  which 
could  never  be  made  universal  commands.  .  .  .  Good  .includes  both  duty 
and  devotion  —  the  probity  of  an  honest  man,  and  the  sublime  virtues  of 
heroes  and  saints.  As  compared  with  obligation,  good  is  an  illimitable 
field,  within  which  obligation  must  remain,  and  mark  out  the  duties  of 
men,  but  it  cannot  cover  the  entire  ground.  Duty  may,  then,  be 
based  upon  a  decree  of  the  divine  will,  without  becoming  associated  with 
those  sensuous  or  mystical  theories,  according  to  which  morality  includes 
no  absolute  idea,  no  necessary  truth.  Good  is  as  immutable  for  God  as 
it  is  for  men ;  but  God  fixes  within  the  circle  of  good  that  which  cannot 
be  neglected  without  sin,  since  it  implies  obligation."2 

It  is  impossible  not  to  see  the  difference  between  these 
two  theories,  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  objections 
which  are  made  to  the  former  do  not  necessarily  affect  the 
latter.  The  former  has  already  received  a  sufficient  reply. 
It  has  been  shown  that  it  destroys  the  very  essence  of  the 
moral  law,  that  it  attributes  to  God  an  arbitrary  and  tyran- 
nical character,  establishing  under  another  name  the  old  doc- 

1  Dictionnaire  des  Sciences  Philosophiqv.es,  art.  Gerson. 

3  iSmile  Beaussire,  Du  Fondement  de  V Obligation  Morale,  p.  17. 


168  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

trine  of  fatum  ;  but  is  this  true  also  of  the  second  theory — 
that  of  Puffendorf  and  of  Barbeyrac,  in  which  the  divine 
will  appears,  not  as  the  principle  of  good,  but  as  the  principle 
of  obligation? 

It  seems  to  me  that  these  two  theories,  whatever  may  be 
their  apparent  difference,  lead  to  the  same  results ;  and  the 
second  does  so  in  a  way  which  is,  perhaps,  even  more  offen- 
sive than  the  other.  In  fact,  it  seems  to  follow  from  this 
theory,  that  God  has  willed,  not  that  a  certain  action  shall 
be  good,  but  that  a  certain  good  action  shall  be  obligatory : 
whence  it  follows  conversely,  that,  if  he  had  not  willed  that 
it  should  be  obligatory,  it  would  not  be  so.  God  might, 
then,  have  made  a  human  creature  endowed  with  reason, 
knowing  perfectly  well  that  a  lie  is  evil,  and  that  truth  is 
good,  yet  being  under  no  obligation  to  tell  the  truth,  and 
permitted  by  Him  to  lie.  God  might  have  created  a  bene- 
factor and  a  person  under  obligation  to  him,  leaving  the 
latter  exempt  from  the  duty  of  gratitude ;  or  a  son  not 
required  to  respect  his  father,  a  mother  free  not  to  love  her 
child,  friends  at  liberty  to  slander  each  other,  etc.  If  it  is 
said  that  such  things  are  impossible  because  of  the  divine 
wisdom,  that  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  what  is  good  in 
itself  is  inseparable  from  obligation,  that  the  bond  between 
them  was  not  established  by  a  divine  decree.  If,  however, 
these  consequences  are  accepted,  then  we  have  admitted 
every  thing  that  makes  the  first  theory  odious,  by  making 
God  practically  the  creator  of  good  and  evil,  thus  ranking 
holiness  as  inferior  to  power.  This  result  seems  even  more 
offensive  in  the  second  theory  than  in  the  first,  for  we  can 
understand  that  God  may  create  good  and  evil ;  but,  if  this 
distinction  exists  eternally  and  essentially,  it  seems  utterly 
inadmissible  to  say  that  God  can  excuse  us  from  doing  good, 
and  authorize  us  to  do  evil. 

Moreover,  as  Dugald  Stewart  has  remarked,  this  theory 
turns  in  a  vicious  circle,  for  it  implies  that  it  is  obligatory  to 
obey  a  higher  authority ;  that  is,  that  the  obligation  is  logi- 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       169 

cally  anterior  to  the  act  of  enacting  the  law.  Hence  this  act 
cannot  be  the  basis  of  the  obligation.  Suppose,  for  example, 
that  no  moral  law  existed  which  said  to  me,  "You  ought  to 
obey  the  will  of  a  superior : "  then  such  a  will  might  con- 
strain me  by  its  power,  but  I  do  not  see  how  it  could  oblige 
me  to  obey.  Now,  there  is  no  philosopher  who  does  not 
understand  the  distinction  between  constraint  and  obligation. 
To  this  objection  it  is  replied  that  it  is  itself  a  vicious 
circle. 

"  To  inquire  the  reason  for  a  principle  is  to  begin  by  contesting  its 
right  to  the  name  of  principle :  it  is  begging  the  question.  On  whatever 
foundation  we  base  obligation,  we  are  exposed  to  the  same  objection. 
Whether  we  consider  good,  justice,  the  universal  order,  or  human  nature, 
if  one  asks  how  these  ideas  can  impose  any  duty  on  man,  we  are  forced  to 
reply,  that  he  is  under  moral  obligation  to  bring  himself  into  conformity 
with  good,  with  justice,  and  the  universal  order :  in  a  word,  we  are  com- 
pelled to  go  back  to  a  primitive  obligation,  beyond  which  we  cannot  pass 
to  search  for  any  principle  without  moving  in  a  circle." * 

This  is  all  very  true,  provided  that  the  principle  gives  a 
satisfactory  reply  to  the  question  asked,  and  admits  of  no 
doubt.  If,  however,  it  leaves  the  question  unanswered,  then 
it  is  not  the  right  principle.  If  the  divine  will  were  really 
the  principle  of  obligation,  I  should  no  longer  need  to  ask 
why  the  divine  will  is  obligatory.  Since  we  are  forced  to 
pause  before  some  final  "  because,"  I  prefer  to  say,  that  obli- 
gation is  directly  and  inevitably  united  with  the  idea  of 
good ;  although  I  am  unable  to  give  any  better  reason  for 
this  than  I  can  for  the  connection  between  cause  and  effect. 
If  you  refuse  to  admit  this  direct  connection,  then  you  must 
give  me  some  reason  which  will  make  me  understand  more 
clearly  than  before  the  basis  of  the  obligation.  This  has  not 
been  done ;  for  I  cannot  see  at  all  plainly  why  I  ought  to 
submit  to  a  will  that  is  more  powerful  than  mine,  even  if  it 
is  infinitely  so,  if  this  will  commands  me  without  any  reason, 
and  if  it  has  no  just  title  to  authority  over  me.     It  is  this 

1  Beaussire,  p.  149. 


170  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

title  which  forms  the  principle  of  obligation,  and  not  the  mere 
will,  which  is  only  a  force.  Now,  whatever  may  be  said, 
force  is  only  a  principle  of  constraint,  never  of  obligation. 

But,  it  is  said,  has  not  the  Almighty,  who  gives  tis  life 
and  being,  a  right  to  subject  us  to  any  trial  which  he  sees  fit 
to  choose,  before  bestowing  upon  us  the  happiness  to  which 
he  calls  us  after  this  life?  Then  good  and  evil  would  be 
only  the  sum  of  the  actions  required  of,  or  forbidden  to,  men 
as  a  means  of  gaining  eternal  rewards,  and  avoiding  future 
torments!  Such  a  system  is  merely  a  special  form  fo  the 
utilitarian  theory.  It  would  also  be  conceiving  moral  order 
as  formed  upon  the  model  of  legal  and  material  order.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  ideas  of  recompense  and  punishment 
are  eliminated,  and  the  divine  decree  is  supposed  to  be  based 
in  some  way  upon  the  essence  of  things,  the  principle  itself 
is  repudiated. 

The  most  plausible  reason  given  in  favor  of  the  previous 
theory,  is  the  distinction  which  it  makes  between  good  and 
duty,  which  was  explained  above.  Good,  it  is  said,  is  a 
larger,  more  extended  field  than  duty.  Not  every  thing  that 
is  good  is  obligatory.  It  is  good  to  sacrifice  one's  whole 
fortune  in  relieving  suffering;  but  it  is  not  a  duty,  and  one  is 
not  a  bad  man  if  one  does  not  do  it.  This  objection  will  be 
subjected  to  a  special  examination  in  the  following  chapter. 
We  may,  therefore,  pass  it  by  for  the  present,  and  proceed 
from  the  criticism  to  the  theory. 

According  to  my  view,  moral  obligation  is  based  upon  the 
following  principle :  — 

"  Every  being  owes  it  to  himself  that  he  should  attain  to 
the  highest  degree  of  excellence  and  of  perfection  of  which 
his  nature  is  capable." 

Assuming  that  there  is  in  every  being  an  element  of  excel- 
lence or  of  perfection  which  is  exactly  proportionate  to  his 
place  in  the  scale  of  being,  or,  rather,  which  determines  this 
place  in  the  scale  of  being  ; 

Assuming  that  there  are  beings  of  different  degrees  of  per- 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       171 

fection,  and  whose  essence  has  more  or  less  of  excellence 
and  dignity  (for  example,  minerals,  vegetables,  animals, 
men) ; 

Assuming  that  the  essence  of  each  being  consists  in  that 
which  is  proper  to  himself,  not  in  that  which  he  holds  in 
common  with  beings  inferior  to  himself; 

Assuming  that  man  has  an  excellence  which  is  proper  to 
himself,  and  which  consists  in  those  faculties  which  he  does 
not  share  with  the  brutes,  or  which  he  possesses  in  common 
with  them,  but  in  an  eminently  higher  degree ; 

Assuming  that  the  good  of  man  consists  in  this  very  es- 
sence which  is  proper  to  himself,  and  by  which  he  raises 
himself  above  the  brutes ; 

Assuming  that  this  essence  is  susceptible  of  progress  and 
of  development,  and  that  man  may  unceasingly  add  new 
knowledge  to  his  mind,  new  feelings  to  his  heart,  greater 
force  to  his  activity,  etc. ; 

Assuming  that  the  essence  of  man,  and  his  excellence,  con- 
sists, not  merely  in  his  role  of  a  distinct  individual,  but  that 
this  excellence  is  increased  and  enlarged  in  proportion  as  the 
man  is  united  to  humanity  by  the  bonds  of  sympathy,  love, 
and  respect ; 

Assuming  that  this  ideal  essence  of  humanity  is  in  a  cer- 
tain sense  the  symbol"  and  the  image  of  the  absolute  and 
perfect  Being,  that  is  to  say,  of  God ; 

Assuming  that  each  man  finds  in  the  depths  of  his  nature, 
mingled  with  all  the  miseries  rising  from  the  sensitive  life, 
this  ideal  essence  of  humanity,  which  is  the  true  man,  — 

Assuming  all  these  premises,  I  conclude,  that,  in  my  opin- 
ion, the  man  cannot  thus  conceive  his  own  ideal  essence 
without  wishing  at  the  same  time  to  realize  this  essence  so 
far  as  it  is  possible.  Moral  necessity  is,  as  Kant  perceived, 
only  the  superior  will  of  the  man  laying  commands  upon  his 
inferior  will.  Man  cannot  wish  to  be  any  thing  but  a  true 
man,  a  complete  man ;  that  is,  to  be  actually  what  he  is  vir- 
tually.    This  will  of  the  reason  finds  itself  in  conflict  with 


172  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  sensitive  will.  The  superior  will,  so  far  as  it  imposes  its 
authority  upon  the  inferior  will,  is  called  obligation. 

Kant  has  observed  justly  that  a  will  if  pure,  and  perfectly 
good,  would  be  subject  to  laws,  and  to  the  law  of  good,  just 
like  any  other,  but  it  could  not  be  regarded  as  being  con- 
strained by  these  laws  to  do  what  is  good,  because,  by  its 
very  nature,  it  would  of  itself  conform  to  them.  Thus  for 
the  divine  will,  and  in  general  for  any  holy  will,  there  are 
no  imperatives  nor  orders :  duty  is  a  word  which  is  no  longer 
appropriate,  since  the  will  is  already,  and  of  necessity,  in  con- 
formity with  the  law.  Duty,  on  the  contrary,  always  pre- 
sents itself  with  a  certain  character  of  constraint.  It  is  a  law 
opposed  to  the  inclinations,  and  consequently  assumes  a  cer- 
tain rebellion  of  the  nature.  Only,  this  constraint  is  distin- 
guished from  the  constraint  of  force,  by  the  fact  that  the 
latter  is  violent,  the  former  an  act  of  reason :  one  is  a  physi- 
cal, the  other  an  ideal,  necessity. 

The  opposition  within  man  between  the  pure  will,  which 
desires  the  right,  and  the  sensitive  and  passionate  will,  which 
desires  pleasure,  is  so  striking  a  fact  in  human  nature,  that 
it  has  been  commented  upon  by  all  moralists.  It  is  this 
conflict  which  the  Christian  moralists  call  the  war  between 
the  flesh  and  the  spirit.  "  The  law  in  my  members  wars 
against  the  law  of  my  mind,"  said  St.  Paul.  This  law  of 
the  mind  is  the  law  laid  down  by  the  pure  will,  that  which 
infallibly  desires  the  good,  in  opposition  to  the  rebellious 
and  fractious  will  which  desires  only  pleasure. 

This  is  the  meaning  of  Kant's  admirable  theory  of  the 
autonomy  of  the  will,  -which  can  signify  only  the  sure  consent 
of  an  enlightened  will  to  its  own  good,  not  the  blind  caprice 
of  an  arbitrary  will.  We  should  not  transfer  from  God  to 
man  that  idea  of  a  blind  fatality,  which  derives  the  principle 
of  duty  from  an  arbitrary,  unreasoning  will.  In  God  this 
would  be  tyranny :  in  man  it  would  be  anarchy.  No,  it  is 
not  arbitrarily,  guided  by  his  caprices,  that  man  establishes 
a  law  for  himself.     Caprice  desires  no  law.     But  man,  in  so 


NATURE  AND  BASIS  OF  THE  MORAL  LAW.       173 

far  as  lie  comprehends  his  true  essence,  cannot  desire  any 
thing  differing  from  this  essence:  it  is  this  irresistible  and 
natural  desire  for  the  greatest  good  which  takes  the  form  of 
a  law  when  it  finds  itself  brought  into  conflict  with  a  lower 
will.  In  this  sense  the  will  gives  a  law  to  itself,  makes  itself 
a  law ;  and,  in  the  reign  of  ends,  man  is  thus  at  once  legislator 
and  subject. 

Those  who  base  moral  obligation  upon  the  divine  will, 
intended,  perhaps,  to  say  precisely  what  I  have  just  said ; 
that  is,  that  it  is  the  pure,  ideal,  and  consequently  divine,  will 
which  enacts  this  law  for  us.  Their  error  lies  in  represent- 
ing this  will  as  something  exterior.  Nothing  which  is  ex- 
terior can  be  the  basis  of  morality.  It  is  not  because  a 
higher  power  desires  our  good  that  it  is  incumbent  upon  us 
to  seek  it:  it  is  because  we  inevitably  desire  it  ourselves. 
The  obligation,  then,  comes  from  within,  not  from  without. 

Fichte  argued  admirably  in  defence  of  this  principle  that 
obligation  is  interior : 

"  There  is  [he  says]  absolutely  no  exterior  foundation,  no  exterior 
criterion,  for  the  obligatoriness  of  a  moral  law.  No  law,  no  command- 
ment (though  claiming  to  be  a  divine  commandment),  is  unconditionally 
obligatory :  it  is  obligatory  only  on  condition  that  it  is  confirmed  by  our 
own  conscience,  and  only  because  our  conscience  does  confirm  it.  It  is 
our  absolute  duty  not  to  receive  this  commandment  without  a  personal 
examination,  and  to  control  it  by  our  own  conscience :  to  neglect  such  an 
examination  is  absolutely  contrary  to  our  conscience.  Whatever  does 
not  come  from  the  belief  of  our  own  conscience  is  actual  sin." 

There  are  two  schools  which  always  agree  in  denying  that 
there  exists  in  man  what  I  have  called  the  interior  principle, 
what  the  Stoics  called  to  rjy^oviKov,  the  guiding  principle, 
and  who  explain  every  thing  by  exterior  causation :  these 
schools  are,  the  school  of  the  senses,  and  the  school  of  au- 
thority. Ideas  come  from  the  senses,  according  to  the  one ; 
from  tradition,  according  to  the  other.  For  the  former,  the 
moral  law  is  an  invention  of  legislators ;  for  the  latter,  it  is 
the  command  of  an  all-powerful  will.     Conscience  is  a  habit : 


174  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

conscience  is  submission.  Conform  to  social  laws,  says  the 
one.  Obey  wise  men,  says  the  other.  One  of  the  greatest  of 
the  latter  wrote  thus :  "  Make  yourself  a  brute,  what  have 
you  to  lose  ?  " 

Yes,  undoubtedly  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I  should 
learn  from  those  who  are  wiser ;  but  it  is  my  own  conscience 
which  tells  me  this,  and  it  is  this  which  I  obey  when  I  con- 
sult those  who  are  the  most  enlightened.  My  reason  orders 
me  to  obey  the  divine  will  manifesting  itself  to  me  by  the 
law  of  duty ;  but  it  is  my  reason  which  commands  me,  and 
it  is  because  this  law  is  in  conformity  with  my  reason  that 
I  obey  it.  Morality  is  an  essentially  personal  act ;  and  this 
making  one's  self  a  brute,  of  which  Pascal  speaks,  is  the 
absolute  reverse  of  morality.  It  is  a  material  and  mechani- 
cal rule  substituted  for  the  true  rule  —  that  of  our  own 
reason  and  our  own  will.  In  the  moral,  as  in  the  political, 
world,  man  is  neither  a  slave,  nor  even  a  subject :  he  is  a 
citizen* 


UNIVERSITY,' 

CHAPTER  II. 

GOOD  AND  DUTY. 

"TTTE  have  seen,  in  the  preceding  chapter,  that  one  of  the 
»  *  corner-stones  on  which  the  attempt  has  been  made 
to  base  the  doctrine  of  the  divine  will  is  the  distinction  of 
two  domains  in  the  moral  world  —  one  in  which  the  princi- 
ple of  obligation  rules,  and  the  other  rising  above  obligation 
—  the  domain  of  duty  and  that  of  good.  It  is  a  generally 
received  opinion  that  the  field  of  good  is  larger  than  that 
of  duty.  Every  thing  which  is  a  duty  is  good,  they  say ; 
but  the  converse  is  not  true  —  good  is  not  always  a  duty. 
These  two  ideas  do  not  exactly  correspond :  the  idea  of  good 
includes  more  than  the  idea  of  duty.  Above  and  beyond 
duty,  there  is  a  certain  degree  of  perfection  which  confers 
on  him  who  attains  it  a  special  merit,  and  for  which  he 
deserves  especial  praise  and  reward. 

"Good  and  duty  [says  the  moralist]  may  be  represented  under  the 
figure  of  two  concentric  circles,  which,  having  the  same  centre,  differ  as 
to  their  circumferences.  Duty  is  the  limit  below  which  we  may  not 
descend  without  losing  in  the  moral  world  our  standing  as  men.  Good 
is  the  highest  aim  which  the  united  efforts  of  all  our  faculties  can  set 
before  themselves :  it  is  the  supreme,  the  eternal  order  to  which  we  are 
required  to  conform  in  proportion  to  our  intelligence  and  our  strength. 
It  is  perfection  itself,  which  we  are  able  always  to  approach  more  and 
more  closely,  without  ever  attaining  it."  * 

This  theory  seems  at  first  to  be  founded  upon  common 
sense.  It  is  generally  admitted  that  certain  actions,  certain 
moral  qualities,  are  beautiful  and  honorable :  we  praise  those 

i  Ad.  Franck,  Morale  pour  tous,  c.  iii.,  p.  23. 

175 


176  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

who  possess  or  perform  them,  but  we  do  not  blame  those  who 
abstain  from  them,  which  would  not  be  the  case  if  they  were 
strictly  obligatory.  For  example,  we  should  praise  a  rich 
man  if  he  employed  his  fortune  in  the  development  of  the 
arts  and  sciences.  This  is  evidently  good  and  praiseworthy, 
yet  we  could  not  say  that  it  is  the  duty  of  every  rich  man 
to  make  such  a  use  of  his  fortune.  We  should  praise  and 
admire  a  man  of  moderate  means  who  should  undertake  to 
help  and  bring  up  a  family  not  his  own,  yet  one  who  did  not 
do  so  would  not  be  culpable.  Yet  how  could  he  fail  to  be 
so  if  such  an  action  were  strictly  obligatory  ? 

It  even  seems  as  if,  in  common  opinion,  the  idea  of  merit 
transcends  that  of  duty,  instead  of  corresponding  exactly 
with  it;  for  nothing  is  more  common  than  to  hear  a  man 
who  has  performed  some  act  of  strict  probity  say ;  "  There  is 
no  merit  in  that :  I  have  only  done  my  duty."  From  which 
it  would  follow  that  an  action  would  be  meritorious  only 
if  it  surpassed  duty,  if  the  agent  should,  so  to  speak,  put 
in  something  of  his  own. 

The  same  thing  is  seen  in  religious  morality,  where  a  dis- 
tinction is  generally  made  between  a  precept  and  a  counsel ; 
the  former  commanding  us  to  do  what  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary for  salvation,  the  latter  telling  us  what  we  can  do  if  we 
wish  to  attain  perfection.  Thus  St.  Paul  tells  us,  "  To  marry 
is  well,  but  not  to  marry  is  better."  Whence  it  follows  that 
celibacy  is  a  more  perfect  state  than  marriage,  but  it  is  not 
obligatory,  although  perfect.  It  is  even  clear  that  this  state 
could  be  chosen  by  some,  only  on  condition  that  it  should 
not  be  chosen  by  all,  otherwise  humanity  would  die  out. 
So,  too,  those  words  which  Jesus  Christ  spoke  to  the  rich 
young  man,  as  related  in  the  gospel ;  "  Sell  all  that  thou  hast, 
and  distribute  unto  the  poor,"  have  been  understood  by  the 
Fathers  of  the  Church  as  counsel,  and  not  as  precept.  For, 
if  every  one  were  to  give  away  all  his  goods,  everybody 
would  become  poor,  and  would  need  to  have  restored  what 
had  just  been  given  away.      The  community  of  property 


GOOD  AND  DUTY.  177 

among  the  early  Christians  has  also  been  explained  as  being 
free,  not  obligatory.  Finally,  the  poverty  of  certain  religious 
orders,  which  has  been  considered  by  some  persons  as  a  virtue, 
has  never  been  regarded  as  an  obligation  binding  on  all. 

If,  then,  we  consider  morality,  either  sacred  or  secular, 
it  seems  that  each  assumes  the  existence  of  a  state  which, 
surpassing  the  strength  of  average  humanity,  is  left  to  the 
free  choice  of  the  individual,  and  thus  gives  him  a  title  to 
special  excellence.  With  the  one,  this  is  holiness ;  with  the 
other,  heroism.  It  seems  to  be  generally  conceded,  that  no 
one  is  under  obligation  to  be  either  a  saint  or  a  hero  (no 
matter  which  of  these  two  states  may  be  regarded  as  the 
ideal).  There  is,  then,  a  large  field  outside  of  that  which  is 
strictly  necessary ;  and  it  is  here  that  the  idea  of  good  goes 
beyond  that  of  duty. 

A  final  consideration  offered  in  favor  of  this  distinction  is, 
that  to  reduce  morality  to  pure  duty,  without  admitting  the 
existence  of  a  higher  and  free  field,  is  to  reduce  morality  to 
a  mere  rule  and  order,  to  make  man  an  agent  always  subject 
to  a  law,  to  replace  morality  by  legality,  and  to  take  from 
the  free  will  all  its  initiative  and  individuality.  It  is,  in 
fine,  as  it  has  been  said,  to  apply  to  morality  a  sort  of  mili- 
tary rigime,  like  that  which  Frederick  the  Great  established 
in  his  dominions.1 

All  these  reasons  are  specious,  yet  not  convincing. 

If  it  is  merely  meant  that  a  thing  which  is  good  in  itself  is 
not  absolutely  obligatory  on  every  one,  this  is  unquestiona- 
bly true.  For  example,  it  is  plainly  not  the  duty  of  every 
one  to  go  in  search  of  the  passage  around  the  north  pole, 
although  it  would  be  a  good  and  fine  thing  to  find  it.  Such 
reasoners  leave  out  of  sight  the  fact  that  here  a  comparison 

1  M.  Simile  Grucker,  in  his  fitude  sur  Hemsterhuys  (Paris,  1866,  p.  135), 
makes  this  comparison  between  the  philosophy  of  Wolf  and  the  Prussian 
military  discipline.  It  may  be  equally  well  applied  to  that  of  Kant.  The 
same  author  adds  several  very  felicitous  pages  on  the  part  in  morality  which 
belongs  to  individuality. 


178  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

is  made  between  what  is  good  in  a  general  way,  and  what  is 
obligatory  upon  certain  persons  in  particular ;  and  these  ideas 
are  not  really  equivalent,  since  we  are  considering,  on  the  one 
hand,  a  good  which  is  indefinite,  and,  on  the  other,  a  definite 
duty,  which  is  an  error  in  logic.  We  should  properly  com- 
pare what  is  good  for  certain  persons,  and  what  is  obligatory 
for  the  same  persons :  it  is  in  such  a  case,  it  seems  to  me, 
that  the  two  ideas  are  inseparable.  For  example,  why  is  not 
such  a  voyage  obligatory  for  me  ?  Because  for  me  it  would 
not  be  a  reasonable,  and  consequently  not  a  good,  act.  Sup- 
pose, for  example,  that  some  one,  ignorant  of  navigation,  and 
not  having  undergone  previous  preparatory  hardships,  having 
no  geographical  knowledge,  should,  in  mere  puerile  excite- 
ment, leave  a  position  in  which  he  is  useful,  in  order  to  go 
on  an  expedition  from  which  he  could  derive  no  benefit. 
Clearly,  such  an  action  would  not  be  good  for  him ;  and,  for 
that  reason,  it  would  not  be  obligatory.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  imagine  a  sailor,  who  fulfils  all  the  desirable  conditions 
for  undertaking  such  a  voyage,  so  that  there  is  every  reason 
to  expect  that  he  will  succeed ;  suppose,  moreover,  that  at  the 
time  there  is  no  better  action  for  him  to  perform ;  then  I  say, 
that  this  action  becomes  obligatory  for  him,  or,  at  least,  that 
it  has  precisely  the  same  degree  of  obligation  as  it  has  of 
moral  goodness,  and  that,  if  it  is  allowable  for  him  to  neglect 
it,  it  will  be  so  because  he  can  accomplish  another  action  as 
good  or  better ;  for  example,  he  may  perhaps  serve  his  coun- 
try in  a  just  war,  perform  more  directly  practical  services  in 
a  profitable  commercial  expedition,  etc.1  Similarly,  why  is 
not  a  certain  woman  under  obligation  to  become  a  Sister  of 
Charity?  It  may  be,  perhaps,  because,  being  married  and 
having  children,  it  would  be  absurd  and  unjust  to  leave  her 

1  These  lines,  written  some  years  before  the  war  of  1870,  proved  singularly- 
prophetic  in  regard  to  M.  Gustave  Lambert,  who,  after  bravely  striving  for 
several  years  to  get  his  expedition  ready,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  funds 
had  just  been  voted  by  the  legislative  body,  was  obliged  to  postpone  the 
accomplishment  of  his  enterprise,  that  he  might  serve  his  country  in  another 
way,  and  was  killed  at  Buzenval  during  the  siege  of  Paris. 


GOOD  AND  DUTY.  179 

family ;  that  is,  the  action  would  not  be  obligatory  because 
it  would  not  be  good.  If,  however,  we  imagine  a  situation 
in  which  the  act  of  becoming  a  Sister  of  Charity  would  be 
the  very  best  possible,  I  say  that  this  act  would  then  become 
strictly  obligatory  ;  and,  if  it  never  is  so,  it  is  because  it  has 
never  been  proved  that  it  is  the  very  best  possible  act,  and 
because  it  is  allowable  for  one  to  choose  between  several 
actions  which  are,  or  appear  to  be,  equally  good. 

The  distinction  between  the  two  domains,  that  of  good 
and  that  of  duty,  would  lead  to  the  inadmissible  supposition, 
that  between  two  actions,  one  of  which  is  plainly  better  than 
the  other,  the  individual  is  at  liberty  to  choose  that  which  is 
the  lesser  good.  How  could  one  have  such  liberty  ?  Is  not 
this  another  form  of  that  doctrine  of  the  casuists  which  was 
so  severely  condemned  by  Pascal  and  by  Bossuet,  that  of 
two  probable  opinions  one  may  adopt  that  which  is  least 
probable  ? 

Besides,  in  virtue  of  what  principle  can  it  be  pretended, 
that,  within  the  domain  of  good,  obligation  extends  only  to  a 
certain  point,  and  that  beyond  this  there  lies  a  large  and 
free  field,  which  is  the  domain  of  merit,  but  not  of  duty? 
By  what  test  can  we  distinguish  that  which  is  obligatory 
from  that  which  is  meritorious,  that  which  is  an  absolute 
command  or  prohibition  from  a  mere  counsel  ?  Such  a  dis- 
tinction is  comprehensible  in  a  religious  morality  founded 
upon  sacred  books;  for  one  can  understand  that  a  human  or 
divine  legislator  can  prescribe  certain  fixed  rules,  and  then 
outside  of  these  rules  may  recommend,  without  commanding, 
certain  things  which  are  more  difficult,  for  which  he  reserves 
special  rewards.  In  this  case,  the  test  is  the  word  of  the 
legislator,  or  of  those  who  are  authorized  to  interpret  the 
text.  But  where  can  we  find  any  reason  for  such  a  distinc- 
tion in  a  natural  morality,  based  upon  pure  reason  ?  Why 
should  duty  stop  here?  Why  should  the  domain  of  good 
begin  there? 

Shall  we  say  that  the  domain  of  duty,  properly  so  called, 


180  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

includes  what  are  ordinarily  termed  definite  duties,  and  that 
good  corresponds  to  indefinite  duties  (a  distinction  which 
I  shall  consider  more  fully  in  the  next  chapter)  ?  But,  in 
reasoning  thus,  we  should  abandon  the  very  principle  of  dis- 
tinction between  duty  and  good ;  for  duty,  even  if  indefinite, 
is  still  duty.  Good  would  then  be  accompanied  by  duty, 
but  by  a  duty  which  would  be  more  or  less  obligatory  ac- 
cording to  circumstances.  Kant,  for  example,  who  denies 
expressly  that  the  domain  of  good  is  any  larger  than  that  of 
duty,  admits,  nevertheless,  like  every  one  else,  the  existence 
of  definite  and  indefinite  duties.  These  two  theories,  then, 
are  not  equivalent.  What  is  called  an  indefinite  duty  is 
one  which  cannot  be  determined  beforehand  in  regard  to  a 
particular  action,  but,  nevertheless,  is  a  duty. 

A  great  deal  is  made  of  self-devotion,  which,  it  is  claimed, 
is  of  a  higher  rank  than  duty.  But,  in  the  first  place,  is 
it  not  clear  that  in  certain  cases  self-devotion  is  obligatory, 
even  strictly  so?  For  example,  in  a  battle,  is  it  not  the 
duty  of  the  soldier  to  sacrifice  himself  for  his  country,  and 
the  duty  of  the  leaders  to  sacrifice  themselves  for  their  sol- 
diers ?  In  the  time  of  an  epidemic,  is  it  not  the  duty  of  the 
physician  to  sacrifice  himself  for  his  patients  ?  In  a  case  of 
extreme  danger,  is  it  not  the  absolute  duty  of  the  father 
of  a  family  to  give  up  his  life  for  his  children  ?  Would  any 
one  venture  to  maintain  that  the  soldier  in  time  of  war,  the 
physician  in  the  hospitals,  the  magistrate  in  the  face  of 
tyranny  and  violence,  do  any  thing  more  than  their  duty  in 
sacrificing  themselves? 

We  must,  then,  at  least  make  a  distinction  between  a  devo- 
tion which  is  obligatory  and  one  which  is  not ;  and  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  find  the  dividing  line  between  these  two  kinds 
of  devotion,  or  the  test  by  which  to  recognize  and  distinguish 
them.  In  any  event,  the  hypothesis  of  a  principle  of  devo- 
tion which  is  superior  to  the  principle  of  duty,  breaks  down 
in  the  most  numerous  and  ordinary  cases. 

Our  opponents  exult  over  special  examples  which  it  seems 
difficult  to  bring  under  the  ordinary  rule. 


GOOD  AND  DUTY.  181 

"  It  was  not  the  duty  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  to  open  an  asylum  for 
deserted  orphans.  It  was  not  the  duty  of  Lord  Byron  to  fly  to  the  aid 
of  oppressed  Greece,  and  to  sacrifice  his  life  for  the  deliverance  of  a  coun- 
try not  his  own."  * 

I  answer  unhesitatingly,  that,  if  the  action  performed  by 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul  or  by  Lord  Byron  was  the  best  one 
possible  for  each  at  the  time  when  he  chose  and  accomplished 
it,  then  it  was  strictly  obligatory  upon  him.  In  spite  of  the 
universality  of  the  idea  of  duty,  we  are  not  all  obliged  to  do 
the  same  thing.  The  magistrate  who  administers  justice  is 
not  under  obligation  to  take  care  of  sick  people :  the  soldier 
who  fights  for  his  country  is  not  under  obligation  to  study 
science  and  literature.  There  is,  then,  a  definite  field  of 
good  for  each  one  of  us,  appropriate  to  the  place  of  each  in 
society ;  and  within  this  field,  duty  is  measured  exactly  by 
the  goodness  of  the  actions. 

Undoubtedly  in  a  special  case  a  certain  act  may  appear 
to  be  noble  without  being  obligatory ;  but  it  will  be  because 
this  action,  however  noble  it  may  be,  is  not  proved  to  be 
strictly  the  best  and  most  just.  For  example,  when  Byron, 
after  a  disorderly  and  dissipated  life,  weary  of  existence  and 
of  himself,  under  the  influence  of  high-wrought  sentiment, 
allowed  himself  to  be  killed  for  the  sake  of  a  country  which 
was  nothing  to  him,  and  to  which  his  death  was  of  no  par- 
ticular benefit,  he  performed  a  heroic  action,  I  admit ;  but  I 
am  by  no  means  convinced  that  it  was  a  good  action,  for  it 
was  simply  a  brilliant  suicide.  If  Byron,  instead  of  seeking 
this  empty  glory,  had  made  it  his  business  to  restore  dignity 
to  his  life,  peace  to  his  domestic  hearth,  serenity,  and  conse- 
quently fertility,  to  his  genius,  he  would  have  performed  an 
infinitely  better  action,  and  would  have  given  mankind  a 
more  truly  useful  example.  I  admit,  then,  that  the  action 
of  Byron  was  not  required  by  duty ;  but  that  was  because 
it  was  not  required  by  good.  Every  thing  that  is  beautiful 
is  not  necessarily  good,  whatever  Plato  may  say. 

1  Ad.  Franck,  Morale  pour  tous,  c.  ill. 


182  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Let  us  take  an  example  of  another  sort  from  contempora- 
neous history.  Let  it  be  that  of  the  noble  and  heroic  devo- 
tion of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  who  died  on  the  barricades 
in  1848.  Can  you,  they  ask  us,  regard  an  act  like  this  as 
the  fulfilment  of  a  duty,  of  a  law,  of  something  commanded? 
Is  it  not  the  free  action  of  an  inspired  soul?  Is  it  not, 
indeed,  the  very  freedom  of  the  act  which  constitutes  its 
beauty?  Doubtless  the  soldier  in  time  of  war  ought  to 
sacrifice  his  life :  this  is  required  by  the  very  idea  of  his 
profession.  But  in  the  profession  of  a  minister  of  peace, 
such  as  is  a  priest,  there  is  no  implied  obligation  that  one 
should  face  death  and  cruelty.  He  who  exposes  himself  to 
them  undoubtedly  performs  a  worthy  and  noble  action,  but 
not  one  that  is  strictly  obligatory. 

Who  does  not  see,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  idea  of  a  min- 
ister of  the  gospel  implies  more  fully  than  that  of  any  other 
the  obligation  of  self-devotion  ?  Doubtless  no  one  can  fore- 
see how  or  where  this  self-devotion  is  to  be  exercised ;  and 
since,  thank  God!  civil  wars  are  very  rare,  the  particular 
form  of  self-devotion  which  the  terrible  trial  through  which 
his  country  was  passing  inspired  in  the  Archbishop  of  Paris, 
could  not  have  been  anticipated  d  priori.  Thus  no  rule 
can  be  given  for  such  circumstances ;  and,  as  we  are  in  the 
habit  of  applying  the  word  duty  only  to  actions  which  fre- 
quently occur,  we  fancy  there  is  no  duty  when  an  excep- 
tional action  is  in  question. 

I  will  add,  that  as  all  men  have  not  the  same  moral  con- 
sciousness, or  at  least,  as  it  is  not  developed  in  all  to  the 
same  degree  of  delicacy  and  nobility,  the  same  idea  would 
not  occur  to  every  man  under  the  same  circumstances ;  and  in 
morality  a  wide  range  must  be  left  to  the  principle  of  indi- 
vidual judgment.  Now,  so  long  as  the  idea  of  an  action  to 
be  performed  has  not  presented  itself  to  our  mind,  it  is  clear 
that  it  cannot  be  obligatory  for  us.  When  this  idea  has  been 
distinctly  conceived,  the  case  is  altered.  This  action,  once 
made  apparent  to  the  mind,  presents  itself  to  us  with  all  the 


GOOD  AND  DUTY.  183 

characteristics  of  duty,  and  we  cannot  reject  it  without  re- 
morse. It  is  true  that  it  would  have  been  possible  for  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris  not  to  conceive  the  idea  of  the  heroic 
action  which  he  performed.  But  suppose  that,  after  having 
conceived  the  idea,  he  had  recoiled  from  its  execution :  doubt- 
less he  would  have  felt  the  same  remorse  which  we  feel 
when  we  fail  in  those  duties  which  we  acknowledge  to  be 
obligatory.  He  would  have  experienced  the  feeling  of  inter- 
nal humiliation,  of  moral  depreciation ;  and  how  could  this 
have  happened  unless  he  had  been  conscious  of  failing  to 
perform  a  duty  ? 

Let  us,  however,  endeavor  to  explain  the  origin  of  the 
idea  of  two  unequal  domains  in  the  moral  order. 

1.  This  distinction  was  transferred  from  religious  to  secular 
morality.  The  ancients  knew  nothing  of  it.  We  have  seen 
that  the  distinction  between  a  precept  and  a  command  origi- 
nated in  positive  religious  law :  its  root  was  the  will  of  the 
legislator.  In  philosophic  morality  the  reason  for  this  dis- 
tinction does  not  exist. 

2.  Men  have  always  been  inclined  to  make  the  best  bar- 
gain they  could  with  morality.  Thus  they  have  considered 
as  strictly  obligatory  those  actions  without  which  social 
order  is  impossible,  and  the  security  of  all  is  endangered ; 
for  example,  not  to  kill,  not  to  steal,  etc.  As  to  the  others, 
they  are  very  ready  to  regard  them  as  a  luxury,  very  fine 
undoubtedly,  but  without  which  one  can  get  along.  This  is 
so  true,  that  just  in  proportion  as  we  pass  from  one  period  of 
civilization  to  another,  from  one  stage  of  society  to  another, 
we  see  the  domain  of  the  strictly  obligatory  increasing,  while 
the  domain  of  simple  moral  evil  is  proportionately  contracted. 
Thus  coarse  words,  blows,  and  drunkenness  are  trifles  in  cer- 
tain classes,  while  they  are  shameful  acts  in  more  enlight- 
ened circles. 

3.  Finally,  in  this  theory,  the  different  applications  of 
duty  are  confounded  with  duty  itself.  For  example,  it  is 
man's  duty  to  devote  himself  to  his  fellow-creatures,  but 


184  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

not  to  devote  himself  in  one  especial  way  rather  than  in 
another.  This  choice  depends  upon  circumstances :  one  will 
devote  himself  as  a  soldier,  another  as  a  scholar,  another  as  a 
workman,  etc.  Thus,  if  we  consider  a  certain  special  kind 
of  actions,  we  may  say  that  these  actions  are  good  without 
being  obligatory,  because  all  men  cannot  perform  the  same 
action ;  and  provided  that  they  devote  themselves  in  some 
special  way,  and  under  the  circumstances  determined  by 
their  social  status,  they  have  fulfilled  their  duty.  Thus 
devotion  is  obligatory  in  itself,  because  it  is  good ;  and  each 
person  is  under  obligation  only  to  carry  out  that  kind  of 
devotion  which  is  good  relatively  to  himself.  From  this  we 
see  that  the  ideas  of  good  and  of  obligation  are  always  cor- 
relative and  inseparable. 

Then,  they  say  to  me,  you  admit,  contrary  to  common 
sense,  that  holiness  and  heroism  are  obligatory?  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  reply ;  Yes,  provided  that  the  meaning  of  these 
words  is  not  restricted  to  certain  definite  acts.  For  example, 
in  practice,  a  saint  is  generally  a  friar,  and  a  hero  is  a  soldier. 
Now,  it  is  evident  that  it  is  not  the  duty  of  every  man  to  be 
a  monk  or  a  soldier.  But  if  you  mean  by  holiness  the 
highest  possible  degree  of  purity,  and  by  heroism  the  high- 
est possible  degree  of  courage,  and  if  moral  perfection  con- 
sists of  both  of  these,  then  I  say,  that  each  one  of  us,  according 
to  his  circumstances,  and  according  to  the  different  condi- 
tions in  which  he  is  placed,  is  under  obligation  to  raise  him- 
self to  the  highest  possible  degree  of  perfection,  and  to  be  a 
saint  or  a  hero  according  as  the  nature  of  things  may  require. 
Now,  this  limit,  fixed  by  the  nature  of  things,  each  of  us, 
with  complaisant  indolence,  sets  as  low  as  possible,  and, 
even  then,  for  most  of  the  time  will  fall  below  it.  Duty,  on 
the  contrary,  consists  in  placing  this  limit  as  high  as  possible, 
and  making  the  utmost  efforts  to  attain  it.  The  true  princi- 
ple is  this :  no  one  is  obliged  to  do  what  is  impossible,  but 
it  is  every  one's  duty  to  do  whatever  is  possible.  It  would 
be  absurd  to  maintain,  that,  when  it  is  possible  for  me  to 


GOOD  AND  DUTY.  185 

attain  a  certain  degree  of  perfection,  I  have  a  right  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  a  lesser  one.  Similarly,  it  would  be  absurd  to 
require  of  me  a  degree  of  perfection  to  which  my  nature 
does  not  call  me  (for  example,  to  discover  the  system  of  the 
universe,  like  Newton).  Only,  since  the  limit  of  the  possible 
and  the  impossible  is  not  determined  a  priori,  it  is  my  duty, 
I  repeat,  to  set  this  limit  as  high  as  possible;  and  this  is 
precisely  what  I  call  the  good. 

There  are,  then,  a  good  in  itself,  and  a  duty  in  itself, 
which  are  mutually  equivalent:  there  are  also  a  definite  good 
and  a  definite  duty  varying  with  circumstances  and  indi- 
viduals ;  here,  too,  the  good  and  the  duty  are  reciprocally 
equivalent.  There  is  no  inequality  between  the  two  ideas, 
except  when  we  regard  them  from  two  different  points  of 
view.  For  example,  that  which  is  a  good  in  itself  (which 
would  be  one  for  a  possible  creature)  may  not  be  a  duty  for 
a  given  creature ;  but  abstract  duty  is  always  equivalent  to 
abstract  good,  and  concrete  good  is  interchangeable  with 
concrete  duty. 

Kant  was,  then,  right  in  saying,  in  one  of  the  most  sublime 
pages  of  his.  Critique  of  Practical  Reason,  — 

• 

"We  should  not,  like  volunteer  soldiers,  take  pride  in  placing  our- 
selves above  the  idea  of  duty,  and  pretend  to  act  of  our  own  impulse 
without  need  of  receiving  orders.  We  are  under  the  rule  of  reason  ;  and 
in  our  maxims  we  should  never  forget  this  subjection,  nor  limit  it  in  any 
way.  We  should  not,  in  our  presumption,  diminish  the  authority  which 
belongs  to  law,  by  seeking  anywhere  save  in  the  law  itself,  and  in  the 
respect  which  we  owe  to  it,  the  guiding  principle  of  our  will,  even  were 
this  otherwise  in  conformity  with  the  law.  Duty  and  obligation,  then, 
are  the  only  words  which  express  our  relation  to  the  moral  law.  We  are, 
it  is  true,  legislative  members  of  a  moral  kingdom  which  our  liberty 
makes  possible  ;  but  at  the  same  time  we  are  its  subjects,  not  its  rulers. 

"  We  lead  minds  into  moral  fanaticism,  and  increase  their  presumption, 
when  we  represent  to  them  the  actions  which  we  wish  them  to  perforin 
as  noble,  sublime,  magnanimous ;  for  we  make  them  think  that  the  prin- 
ciple which  should  determine  their  conduct  is  not  duty,  but  that  we 
expect  these  actions  from  them  as  being  purely  meritorious." 


186  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

I  agree  with  Kant,  that  man  cannot  rise  above  duty,  that 
he  cannot  have  a  luxury  of  virtue  into  which  he  may  put 
something  of  his  own,  and  by  which  he  can,  in  a  sense,  gain 
superiority  to  the  moral  law.  Duty  rises  above  all  the  good 
that  we  can  do.  It  is  utterly  impossible  that  our  good  ac- 
tions can  rise  above  duty. 

Is  this  the  same  thing  as  saying  that  we  should  regard 
duty  as  being,  as  Kant  represents  it,  a  sort  of  order,  a  mate- 
rial and  purely  military  law,  prescribed  for  us,  as  if  we  were 
soldiers?  Assuredly,  we  are  not  volunteers  in  the  moral 
conflict ;  we  are  governed  by  a  law ;  but  is  this  law  one 
merely  of  constraint,  and  not  also  of  love?  Is  man  forbid- 
den, as  Kant  would  have  him,  to  act  from  love  of  the  law, 
and  must  he  merely  obey  it?  Further,  is  this  law  formu- 
lated beforehand  for  all  possible  circumstances  ?  Even  with- 
in the  bounds  of  duty,  however  strict,  is  not  something  left 
to  the  initiative  of  the  individual  will?  On  this  point  I  differ 
from  Kant:  not  outside  of  duty,  but  within  it,  man  finds 
merit  through  liberty.  Man  is  not,  as  Kant  would  have  him, 
a  mere  slave  to  his  orders,  a  soldier  obeying  inflexible  regu- 
lations, a  geometrician  armed  with  square  and  compass.  In- 
disputably, no.  Outside  of  the  law,  man  owes  nothing,  and 
can  do  nothing.  But  within  the  limits  of  the  law  he  can, 
and  ought  to,  introduce  something  of  his  own.  It  is  for  him 
to  interpret  the  law,  applying  it  to  the  thousand  unforeseen 
circumstances  which  will  arise,  and  for  which  no  formula 
can  provide  beforehand.  It  is  for  him  to  discover  how  the 
application  must  be  made.  This  is  what  properly  belongs  to 
the  individual  initiative,  and  what  I  call  moral  invention. 

There  are*  inventions  in  morality  as  well  as  in  the  arts, 
and  morally  great  men  are  those  who  have  invented  grand 
and  noble  ways  of  interpreting  and  applying  well-known 
laws.  One  should  sacrifice  one's  self  for  one's  country. 
Here  is  a  general  and  abstract  law,  which  is  sufficient 
a  priori.  It  is  the  business  of  men  to  discover  its  applica- 
tion.    For  example,  no   law   could   say  beforehand;   You 


GOOD  AND  DUTY.  187 

shall  put  your  hand  into  a  chafing-dish,  and  let  it  be  burned, 
so  that  the  enemy  may  know  with  what  sort  of  men  he  has 
to  contend.  Mucius  devised  that  particular  way  of  prov- 
ing his  courage  and  his  devotion.  No  one  could  foresee 
or  prescribe  such  an  act,  any  more  than  he  could  one  of 
Virgil's  beautiful  images.  "Love  your  neighbor  as  your- 
self," says  the  law.  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  devised  the  idea 
of  opening  an  asylum  for  deserted  children.  The  Abbe*  de 
rEpe*e  devised  that  of  instructing  deaf-mutes.  These  are 
new  and  unexpected  applications  of  a  perfectly  well-known 
principle. 

What  shall  be  said  of  the  noble  words,  the  grand  sayings, 
which  history  records  for  us  ?  Shall  we  remove  them  from 
the  domain  of  morals  to  that  of  aesthetics  ?  Assuredly  not ; 
yet  what  moral  law  could  enjoin  upon  us  this  principle, 
"  You  shall  utter  a  noble  saying  when  dying  "  ?  One  should 
show  courage  when  dying :  that  is  the  law.  But  each  one 
will  show  courage  in  a  way  suitable  to  himself,  and  accord- 
ing to  his  character  —  one  by  keeping  silent,  another  by 
speaking. 

For  centuries  publicists  have  taught  that  politics  cannot 
be  regulated  by  the  laws  of  morality,  and  that  sovereigns 
require  a  special  code  of  morals.  A  great  soul,  a  noble  will, 
was  all  that  was  needed  to  overthrow  this  pretended  law, 
and  teach  us  that  an  entire  political  life  could  be  governed 
by  the  most  inflexible  morality. 

That  during  a  career  of  twenty  years  one  should  show 
that  political  sagacity,  military  heroism,  the  management  of 
the  most  important  affairs,  a  crushing  weight  of  responsi- 
bility, were  in  no  way  inconsistent  with  public  and  private 
morality ;  that  one  should  be  under  temptation  to  put  an 
end  to  anarchy  by  taking  possession  of  power,  yet  should 
refuse  to  do  so ;  that  one  should  use  an  army  only  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  laws,  never  in  defiance  of  them ;  and, 
far  from  attempting  to  excite  its  natural  discontent,  should 
silence  all  complaints  for  the  sake  of  public  good  —  all  this 


188  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

is  such  an  extraordinary  fact  in  history,  that  we  should  not 
have  believed  it  possible,  had  not  Washington  lived  to  prove 
it  by  accomplishing  it. 

In  a  word,  virtue  is,  in  a  certain  sense,  a  creative  act, 
and  in  its  most  sublime  features  is  a  free  and  individual 
act,  which  gives  rise  to  unexpected  forms  of  grandeur  and 
generosity.  The  inferior  form  of  virtue  is  the  legal  form ; 
that  is,  an  obedient  activity,  which,  without  any  spontaneity, 
follows  faithfully  a  given  rule,  whether  this  is  the  civil  law 
(which  is  the  lowest  degree),  or  a  certain  moral  law  received 
and  transmitted  by  tradition.  But  true  virtue,  like  genius, 
is  above  the  law,  or,  rather,  creates  it ;  and  this  is  just  as  true 
of  duties  which  come  under  the  head  of  justice,  as  of  the 
duties  of  charity.  On  one  day,  virtue  discovers  that  we 
should  forgive  our  enemies ;  on  another,  that  we  ought  not  to 
tyrannize  over  men's  consciences ;  on  another,  that  the  inno- 
cence of  childhood  should  be  respected,  debetur  puero  reve- 
rentia  ;  or,  again,  that  one  ought  to  know  how  to  defend  his 
rights,  etc.  None  of  these  discoveries  is  made  without  danger, 
and  traditional  wisdom  rebels  against  these  divinations  of  a 
higher  sphere.  Thus  virtue,  like  art,  is  creative ;  and  one 
might  write  a  history  of  its  discoveries  and  its  inventions. 
If  we  consider  even  our  daily  actions,  we  shall  see  that 
virtue  creates ;  for  no  law,  no  set  of  rules,  is  sufficiently 
minute  to  declare  how  one  ought  to  act  in  all  circumstances. 
It  is  virtue  which  discovers  and  divines  this:  it  is  virtue 
which  combines  the  severe  and  the  gentle,  the  joyful  and 
the  sad,  the  heroic  and  the  simple,  in  such  a  way  as  to  give 
a  different  solution  in  each  particular  case.  Hence  it  re- 
sults, that,  in  morality,  example  is  worth  more  than  precept. 
It  is  the  hero  or  the  saint  who  is  the  true  manual  of  moral 
science.  So  soon  as  such  examples  have  been  given,  they 
become  duties  in  the  opinion  of  other  men.  What  was  at 
first  the  work  of  the  individual  initiative,  becomes  a  rule 
and  a  law.  Hence  it  is  not  necessary  to  imagine  the  exist- 
ence of  two  domains,  one  of  good,  the  other  of  duty,  in  one 


GOOD  AND  DUTY. 


189 


of  which  reigns  freedom,  and  in  the  other  an  inflexible  law. 
Everywhere,  at  every  step,  there  is  at  once  law  and  liberty  — 
a  law,  in  the  sense  that  whenever  there  is  any  good  that 
may  be  accomplished,  it  is  obligatory  upon  us  to  fulfil  it ; 
freedom,  since  it  is  virtue  itself  which  by  its  free  and  crea- 
tive initiative  disentangles  moral  truth  from  the  confused 
and  stifling  chaos  of  our  instincts  and  our  prejudices. 


JNTVERSITY' 


CHAPTER  in. 

DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES. 

"TN  addition  to  the  preceding  distinction  between  duty  ana 
■*•  good,  the  schools  admit  also  another,  and  recognize  two 
kinds  of  duties,  which,  since  the  time  of  Wolf,  have  been 
called  definite  and  indefinite.  The  first,  they  say,  are  strict 
and  exact,  enjoining  themselves  upon  the  agent  in  an  abso- 
lute manner  without  leaving  any  latitude  of  interpretation 
—  such,  for  example,  as  paying  a  debt,  restoring  things  in- 
trusted to  us,  not  killing  any  one.  The  others,  on  the  con- 
trary, although  obligatory  like  the  former,  necessarily  leave 
the  agent  considerable  freedom  of  interpretation,  and  a  cer- 
tain latitude  in  execution.  For  example,  to  cultivate  one's 
mind  is  certainly  a  duty ;  but  how,  in  what  way,  or  up  to 
what  point  ?  Shall  it  be  done  by  the  study  of  Sanscrit,  or  of 
Arithmetic  ?  Shall  we  neglect  for  it  the  care  of  our  health, 
the  management  of  our  affairs,  the  fulfilment  of  our  duties? 
Assuredly  not.  Thus  one  cannot  decide  in  just  what  way 
this  kind  of  duties  should  be  fulfilled :  the  free  agent  must 
choose  and  measure  his  intellectual  culture.  So  we  are 
commanded  to  give  to  the  poor  what  is  called  our  superflui- 
ties. But  who  shall  decide  the  essential  question,  what  is 
superfluous  ?  Who  shall  fix  the  limit  of  the  luxury  permis- 
sible for  each  person  ?  Thus  there  is  no  strict  standard.  The 
conscience  of  each  one  must  decide ;  and  the  law  can  only 
say ;  Do  the  best  you  can. 

These  are  the  arguments  advanced  in  behalf  of  the  received 
distinction ;  and  it  is  added  that  definite  duties  (which  are 
also  called  complete  duties)  are  generally  negative  —  those 

190 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  191 

which  consist  in  doing  no  evil.  Indefinite  duties  are  the 
positive  ones,  ->—  those  which  consist  in  doing  good.  The 
first,  it  is  said,  are  definite ;  for  it  is  absolutely  forbidden  to 
do  evil  (whether  it  is  injurious  to  ourselves  or  to  others). 
The  others  are  indefinite ;  for,  as  the  domain  of  good  is  of 
infinite  extent,  there  is  no  criterion  which  will  permit  us 
to  fix  its  limits  in  one  place  or  in  another.  Hence,  in  this 
case,  the  rule  is,  so  far  as  possible.  In  the  first,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  rule  is  never,  not  at  all,  not  to  the  slightest  extent. 
Here  it  is  absolute :  there  it  is  relative.  This  comes,  as  we 
see,  from  the  nature  of  things. 

This  distinction  is  certainly  important,  and  was  an  advance 
in  the  philosophical  analysis  of  duties ;  but,  if  we  examine 
it  more  closely,  we  shall  see  it  disappear  before  a  more  exact 
and  searching  analysis. 

Let  us  first  consider  how  inconvenient  are  the  terms 
adopted.  Certainly  the  expression  indefinite  duties  (devoirs 
larges)  is  unfortunate,  were  it  only  for  its  resemblance  to  that 
other  expression,  "  an  accommodating  conscience  "  (une  con- 
science large).  It  seems,  besides,  contradictory  to  say  that 
a  duty  can  be  indefinite.  The  very  name  of  duty  implies 
an  idea  of  strictness  and  of  obligation.  A  duty  from  which 
one  can  release  one's  self  when  one  wishes,  and  whose  fulfil- 
ment one  can  defer  to  such  time  as  one  pleases ;  a  duty  which 
one  fulfils  as  one  chooses,  at  one's  own  time,  to  the  extent 
one  sees  fit  —  all  this  is  inconsistent,  at  least  in  appearance, 
with  the  very  idea  of  duty,  as  this  is  generally  understood. 

I  may  say  the  same,  also,  of  the  received  expressions,  per- 
fect and  imperfect  duties.  Is  it  not  objectionable  to  apply 
this  last  term  to  the  most  beautiful,  noble,  and  generous  of 
our  duties  ?  The  duties  of  relieving  distress,  consoling  the 
afflicted,  caring  for  the  sick,  instructing  children,  are,  in  the 
pedantic  language  of  the  schools,  merely  imperfect  duties; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  duty  of  paying  one's  debts, 
which  is  sacred,  indeed,  but  utterly  prosaic,  seems  to  be  the 
type  of  perfect  duties. 


192  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

I  am  no  better  satisfied  with  the  expression,  positive  and 
negative  duties,  the  latter  of  which  consist  in  doing  no  evil, 
the  former  in  doing  good.  This  distinction  is  much  more 
apparent  than  real.  Most  duties  may  be  expressed  either 
positively  or  negatively.  Justice,  for  example,  was  expressed 
by  the  ancients  by  means  of  these  two  formulas :  neminem 
Icedere,  suum  cuique  reddere.  The  first  is  negative,  the  sec- 
ond positive  ;  and  the  latter  is  the  more  exact  of  the  two. 
Justice,  in  fact,  does  not  merely  forbid  certain  actions,  but 
also  enjoins '  others.  For  example,  it  forbids  us  to  steal 
another  person's  property,  and  it  commands  us  to  restore 
what  has  been  intrusted  to  our  keeping.1  If,  moreover,  we 
consider  the  distinction  made  by  Aristotle  between  commuta- 
tive and  distributive  justice,  we  shall  see,  that,  in  the  second 
case,  this  virtue  assumes  a  still  more  positive  character.  So, 
too,  the  duty  of  not  lying  might  be  expressed  thus :  "  Always 
speak  the  truth  when  you  are  obliged  to  speak  at  all."  The 
duty  of  not  killing  one's  self  is  the  same  as  the  duty  of  pre- 
serving one's  life.  He  who  commits  suicide  by  refusing  to 
eat,  kills  himself  by  abstaining  from  an  action :  hence  the 
precept  which  orders  him  to  eat  so  that  he  may  not  die,  is 
positive.  Conversely,  the  duties  called  positive  may  be 
expressed  in  a  negative  way.  For  example,  instead  of  say- 
ing, "Be  grateful; "  one  might  say,  "Do  not  be  ungrateful." 
Instead  of  saying,  "  Be  charitable ; "  one  might  say,  "  Do  not 
be  selfish."  The  duty  "  not  to  render  evil  for  evil "  is  a  duty 
of  charity,  not  of  justice ;  yet  it  is  negative  in  form.  The 
forgiveness  of  injuries,  clemency,  and  kindness  to  animals, 
consist  in  abstaining  from  certain   actions :   yet   these   are 


1  It  will,  perhaps,  be  said,  that  here  to  restore  is  synonymous  with  not  to  steal, 
and  that  the  principle  is  therefore  negative.  I  reply  that  there  is  this  differ- 
ence: in  certain  cases,  in  order  to  steal,  it  is  necessary  to  take ;  in  others  (in 
the  case  of  a  thing  intrusted  to  our  keeping)  it  is  sufficient  to  keep.  In  the 
first  case,  the  theft  consists  in  action  {taking)-,  in  the  second,  in  refraining 
from  action  (not  restoring).  Inversely,  justice  in  the  first  case  consists  in 
abstaining  (not  taking),  and  in  the  second  in  acting  (restoring).  The  duty  is 
thus  both  negative  and  positive. 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  103 

duties  of  humanity  and  of  good  will ;  that  is  to  say,  duties 
which  are  generally  called  positive. 

Thus  we  see  that  these  accepted  distinctions,  while  valua- 
ble from  the  stand-point  of  the  classification  of  duties,  are, 
nevertheless,  superficial  and  unsatisfactory  distinctions,  and 
that  this  terminology  is  unfortunate. 

But  it  is  time  to  leave  words,  and  come  to  things.  Let 
us  return  to  the  distinction  between  definite  and  indefinite 
duties,  and  let  us  see  if  this  distinction  can  be  maintained 
in  the  actual  condition  of  science. 

The  fundamental  error  which  I  think  I  perceive  in  this 
distinction  is,  that  it  attributes  to  the  very  essence  of  duty 
—  that  is,  to  its  form  —  what  really  belongs  to  its  matter ; 
that  is  to  say,  to  the  nature  of  the  thing  which  is  the  object 
of  duty.  For  example,  if  the  object  of  duty  is  a  material 
thing,  definite,  easily  distinguished  from  any  other,  having  a 
permanent  identity,  or  a  strict  nominal  value ;  finally,  if  it 
is  a  thing  which  is  susceptible  of  being  measured,  defined, 
or  determined — then  we  can  easily  understand  that  duty  will 
assume  a  character  of  precision  and  exactitude  which  gives 
rise  to  the  apparent  existence  of  one  special  class  of  duties 
distinguishable  from  others. 

It  is  for  this  reason,  that,  when  it  is  desired  to  give  an 
example  of  a  definite  duty,  the  case  of  a  deposit  which 
should  be  restored  is  selected.  Undoubtedly  this  is  a  strict 
duty;  but  whence  comes  this  sort  of  rigidity  which  the  moral 
law  assumes  under  these  circumstances,  which  leaves  the 
agent  no  freedom  of  interpretation?  It  depends  solely  on 
the  material  nature  of  the  thing,  which  leaves  no  room  for 
the  liberty  of  the  agent.  I  intrust  to  you  my  strong-box 
with  all  that  it  contains.  What  ought  you  to  restore  to  me  ? 
My  strong-box.  Here,  then,  is  no  room  whatever  for  argu- 
ment. The  thing  is  what  it  is :  it  cannot  be  confused  with 
any  thing  else.  It  should  return  to  my  hands  —  it  only, 
not  some  other.  It  is  the  same  with  a  loan.  I  lend  you  one 
hundred  francs.     What  ought  you  to  return  to  me?     One 


194  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

hundred  francs.  The  material  identity  is  immaterial,  the 
identity  of  value  only  is  requisite;  but,  as  this  identity  is 
perfect,  the  duty  itself  is  exact.1 

Here  we  do  not  take  into  account  the  question  of  interest. 
At  this  point  the  duty  is  no  longer  exactly  defined.  For 
in  what  does  legitimate  interest  consist?  No  one  can  an- 
swer this  positively.  Sometimes  it  would  be  usury  to  lend 
at  five  per  cent :  sometimes  fifty  per  cent  would  be  a  legiti- 
mate interest.  So  far  as  there  are  laws  in  regard  to  interest, 
there  will  undoubtedly  be  a  criterion,  and  a  usurer  will  be 
one  who  exacts  more  than  the  legal  interest.  But,  as  the 
variations  and  fluctuations  of  commerce  do  not  permit  these 
arbitrary  limitations,  more  than  legal  interest  is  obtained  by 
means  of  subterfuges  which  are  approved  by  public  opinion ; 
and  public  banks  adopt  these  publicly,  with  the  consent  and 
approval  of  all.  This  is  not  the  same  as  saying  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  usury,  but  merely  that  since  interest  is 
an  essentially  fluctuating  and  variable  thing,  depending  on 
a  thousand  circumstances,  there  can  be  no  absolute  standard 
of  usury.  Duty  here  loses  the  strictness,  not  of  its  nature, 
but  of  its  application. 

It  will  be  observed  that  examples  of  definite  duties  are 
almost  always  taken  from  duties  which  relate  to  property. 
This  is  because  property  consists  usually  of  material  things, 
which  are  consequently  divisible,  separable,  subject  to  limi- 
tations, to  barriers,  to  strict  and  well-defined  etiquette  (yet 
not  always,  for  example,  running  waters  and  game  —  that  is 

1  Here,  again,  there  is  some  latitude.  You  intrust  to  me  a  deposit,  your 
library,  with  permission  to  read  it.  If,  by  mischance,  I  spoil  one  of  your  books, 
will  it  not  be  sufficient  for  me  to  give  you  another  copy  ?  In  most  cases  this 
would  be  perfectly  satisfactory.  But,  if  it  should  happen  to  be  a  rare  and 
unique  copy,  the  replacing  it  would  not  be  equivalent  to  a  restoration.  Thus, 
as  we  see,  the  nature  of  the  object  always  determines  the  absolute  strictness 
of  the  duty. 

Recently  the  question  has  been  brought  before  the  tribunals,  whether  a 
banker  ought  to  restore  precisely  the  same  bonds  (that  is  to  say,  the  exact 
numbers)  which  were  deposited  with  him.  Very  good  lawyers  have  held  that 
the  ordinary  rules  of  civil  law  as  to  deposits  do  not  apply  in  such  cases. 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  195 

to  say,  things  which  are  mobile).  In  the  second  place, 
property  is  established  and  guaranteed  by  the  law,  which, 
whenever  material  exactitude  is  lacking,  introduces  moral 
exactitude,  and  establishes  strict  distinctions.  Thanks  to 
these  two  reasons,  the  thine  and  the  mine  are  determined 
with  considerable  precision  in  civil  society;  and  one  can 
understand  how  the  redder e  suum  may  have  appeared  to 
moralists  to  be  distinguished  from  other  duties  by  an  air  of 
strict  constraint  and  inflexible  obligation  which  does  not 
belong  to  the  others. 

But,  even  in  considering  these  questions  which  relate  to 
justice,  we  shall  see  that  duties  become  less  and  less  fixed 
in  proportion  as  the  thing  which  is  their  object  becomes  less 
and  less  clearly  definable.  I  have  just  shown  this  in  regard 
to  usury:  it  is  the  same  with  trade.  Justice  undoubtedly 
requires  that  one  should  not  sell  at  too  high  a  price,  nor  buy 
too  cheaply.  But  what  is  it  to  sell  too  dear,  or  to  buy  too 
cheap?  This  cannot  be  defined.  A  celebrated  socialistic 
school  defines  commerce  as  "  the  art  of  buying  for  three  cents 
what  is  worth  six,  and  of  selling  for  six  cents  what  is  worth 
three."  But  is  a  thing  worth  absolutely  six  cents,  or  three 
cents  ?  Does  not  political  economy  teach  us  that  all  values 
are  relative ;  that  what  you  buy  for  six  cents  is  worth  six 
cents  to  you,  or  you  would  not  buy  it ;  that  what  you  sell  for 
three  cents  is  worth  only  three  cents  to  you,  or  you  would 
not  sell  it  ?  The  value  of  a  thing  is  the  final  sum  agreed 
upon  by  the  buyer  and  seller  after  free  discussion.  This  is 
the  strict  economic  law.  However,  we  feel  plainly  that  he 
who  takes  advantage  of  the  need  of  the  seller,  or  of  the  need 
of  the  buyer,  in  order  to  buy  a  thing  more  cheaply,  or  to  sell 
it  at  a  higher  price,  does  not  act  in  a  manner  which  can  be 
called  strictly  just  from  a  moral  stand-point,  whatever  it 
may  be  from  a  legal  point  of  view.  But  where  shall  we  find 
a  standard?  How  far  is  it  permissible  to  profit  by  the  needs 
of  one's  fellow-creatures?  There  can  be  no  fixed  law  for 
this. 


196  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

If  the  duties  of  justice  are  thus  indefinite,  even  when 
exchange  is  in  question,  they  will  become  still  more  so  when 
we  take  a  higher  stand-point.  The  suum  cuique  does  not 
apply  to  material  things  alone,  but  also  to  moral  things. 
Here  the  duties  of  justice  are  certainly  no  less  strict  than 
in  the  former  case.  But  it  will  be  readily  seen,  that,  from 
the  very  nature  of  their  object,  they  resemble,  in  their  indefi- 
niteness,  and  latitude  of  application,  the  duties  which  are 
called  indefinite. 

For  instance,  let  us  consider  the  duties  of  distributive 
justice,  the  formula  of  which  is,  Render  to  each  one  accord- 
ing to  his  works.  How  can  the  relations  of  reward  and  merit 
be  settled  with  exactitude?  For  example,  if  it  is  asked; 
Who  should  be  appointed  to  fill  a  certain  position,  either 
public  or  private  ?  every  one  will  answer,  The  most  worthy 
person.  But  the  question  is,  how  to  decide  who  is  the  most 
worthy.  Shall  it  be  decided  by  age,  or  by  merit?  In  the 
former  case  you  discourage  talent:  in  the  latter  you  discour- 
age labor.  Now,  labor  and  talent  are  the  two  conditions  of 
merit.  Then  let  us  consider  talent :  which  should  we  esteem 
most  highly,  solid  or  brilliant  talent,  rapidity  of  conception, 
or  thoroughness  of  execution?  Clearly,  no  formula  can  here 
teach  us  how  to  distinguish  between  the  mine  and  the  thine. 
Each  one  must  compose  for  himself  all  these  elements,  and 
draw  from  them  a  result,  which  will  necessarily  vary  with 
different  people.  Such  are  the  difficulties  encountered  by 
all  who  have  to  decide  on  the  career  of  men  or  the  choice  of 
individuals.  The  same  difficulties  meet  all  who  conduct 
examinations,  confer  prizes,  have  the  direction  of  elections, 
either  literary  or  political,  etc.  In  all  these  cases,  which  are 
innumerable,  the  suum  cuique  is  essentially  indefinite.  Hence 
duty  leaves  much  to  the  initiative  and  responsibility  of  each 
individual. 

Among  the  duties  of  justice  is  classed  also  the  duty  of 
gratitude.  Gratitude  is  certainly  just  as  strict  a  duty  as  is 
legal  justice.     But  how  vague  and  indefinite  is  its  applica- 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  197 

tion !  I  have  sold  you  a  house.  What  do  you  owe  me  ? 
The  price  agreed  upon.  I  have  lent  you  a  plough.  What 
must  you  give  back  to  me  ?  A  plough.  But  I  have  done 
you  a  service.  What  must  you  give  back  to  me  ?  That  is 
the  question.  Undoubtedly  you  owe  me  gratitude ;  but  in 
what  way?  This  is  left  entirely  to  the  tact  and  the  con- 
science of  the  individual.  Here  strict  exactitude,  far  from 
being  in  conformity  with  the  spirit  of  this  kind  of  duty,  is 
directly  opposed  to  it.  It  is  almost  forbidden  to  pay  cash 
down.  For  example,  one  who,  having  received  a  service 
from  you,  should  rack  his  brains  how  to  render  you  the  same 
service  the  next  day,  would  thereby  prove  a  vanity  and  lack 
of  delicacy  such  as  would  make  him  dread  remaining  an 
instant  under  the  yoke  of  a  benefit,  which  would  in  itself  be 
a  sort  of  ingratitude.1  It  is  also  indelicate  to  repay  in  a 
material  way  a  moral  service.  What  should  one  do,  then, 
to  show  his  gratitude?  Sometimes  this  can  be  done  by 
an  efficient  service  when  an  occasion  naturally  arises ;  some- 
times by  delicate  attentions,  by  proofs  of  affection,  by  acts 
which  are  beyond  measurement  and  beyond  rule.  There 
are  the  same  difficulties  in  regard  to  the  duration  of  grati- 
tude. Unquestionably  there  are  services  for  which  one 
should  be  grateful  all  one's  life.  Is  this  true  of  all  ?  Is  a 
single  service  done  you,  sufficient  to  bind  you  perpetually,  to 
take  from  you  all  your  rights,  to  require  of  you  an  unlimited 
dependence?  How  many  questions  arise  which  can  be 
answered  only  by  the  heart !  Why  is  this  ?  It  is  not  at  all 
due  to  the  nature  of  the  duty  considered  abstractly,  but  only 
to  the  nature  of  the  object.  Here,  not  things,  but  feelings, 
are  in  question.  Now,  while  things  are  ponderable,  measur- 
able, and  definite,  the  feelings  can  be  tried  by  no  weight,  by 
no  measure.  The  duty  may  be  none  the  less  strict,  though 
its  application  is  indefinite. 

Kant  has  several  times  enumerated  among  the  strictest 

1  Just  as  the  giving  of  a  dinner  immediately  after  having  received  a  benefit 
is  an  impolite  politeness  from  its  very  haste. 


198  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

duties  that  of  treating  man  as  a  person,  and  not  as  a  thing, 
of  respecting  him  as  an  end  in  himself,  and  not  using  him 
as  a  means  —  in  a  word,  that  of  not  making  other  men  our 
slaves.  Nothing  can  be  clearer  and  more  exact  than  this 
principle,  so  long  as  we  consider  slavery  either  in  its  material 
or  in  its  legal  form ;  that  is  to  say,  so  long  as  we  make  it  a 
fixed  and  definite  type.  But,  beyond  these  limits,  the  duty 
becomes  vague  precisely  like  the  indefinite  duties.  For 
example,  I  represent  slavery  to  myself  very  clearly  under 
the  form  of  a  man  loaded  with  chains,  or  confined  in  a  cell ; 
or  I  represent  it  by  one  attached  to  the  soil  —  that  is,  not 
being  allowed  to  leave  a  certain  given  territory ;  or  by  one 
bought  and  sold,  having  a  market  price,  or  not  having  the 
right  of  property,  or  not  being  able  to  contract  marriage,  etc. 
Here  are  clear  and  definite  features,  by  the  aid  of  which  I 
can  easily  give  form  to  the  duty  mentioned  above,  not  to 
treat  man  as  a  thing.  But  if  I  pass  from  physical  and  legal 
slavery  to  moral  slavery,  which  is  no  less  to  be  condemned, 
by  what  signs  shall  I  recognize  it  ?  If  I  exercise  such  an 
influence  over  a  man  that  at  length  I  destroy  his  will,  and 
make  him  the  blind  instrument  of  my  passions  or  of  my 
designs,  is  not  this  treating  the  man  as  a  thing,  and  using 
him  as  a  means  ?  Yet  is  there  not  a  natural  influence  which 
men  exercise  over  one  another?  Is  not  this  influence  the 
best  result  of  society?  Shall  we  condemn  the  authority 
exercised  by  the  more  enlightened  over  the  ignorant,  by 
man  over  woman,  by  age  over  youth  ?  Where,  then,  is  the 
natural  limit  of  this  legitimate  authority  ?  This  cannot  be 
determined  beforehand  by  any  formula,  since  here  we  have 
no  longer  a  physical  or  legal  state,  but  a  state  of  the  soul. 
The  physical  or  legal  state  is  a  fixed  and  exact  thing :  the 
interior  state  of  the  soul  is  a  variable  and  infinite  thing, 
which  cannot  be  brought  under  any  absolute  type,  and  in 
which  we  can  find  no  strict  boundary  line  between  liberty 
and  servitude.  Hence  comes  the  indefiniteness  of  virtue 
when  applied  to  this  new  field. 


DEFINITE   AND   INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  199 

It  is  the  same  in  regard  to  our  duties  to  ourselves.  We 
shall  always  find  that  defmiteness  in  duty  is  due  to  the 
definiteness  of  the  object,  and  that  the  strictest  duties  be- 
come indefinite  in  proportion  as  the  object  itself  becomes  so. 
For  example,  it  is  a  strict  duty  not  to  kill  one's  self:  nothing 
could  be  more  definite.1  But  why?  Because  there  is  a 
decided  and  definite  difference  between  life  and  death. 
There  is  no  greater  or  lesser  degree,  intermediate  between 
these  two  states.  Whoever  is  not  dead,  is  living  to  a  certain 
extent ;  and  one  cannot  die  without  dying  completely.  Here 
is  a  clear  and  sharp  distinction,  which  gives  this  duty  an 
absolute  precision.  But  consider,  now,  the  duty  of  not  in- 
juring one's  health  —  a  duty  which  is  evidently  just  as  strict 
as  the  preceding,  since  it  is  its  corollary.  Cannot  every  one 
see  that  this  duty  becomes  indefinite  because  health  itself 
is  indefinite  ?  Who  can  tell  precisely  what  health  is  ?  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  health.  Every  one  suffers  more 
or  less  in  some  particular.  One  who  should  attempt  to 
fulfil  strictly  the  duty  of  keeping  well  would  then  be  con- 
stantly pre-occupied  with  thoughts  of  his  condition,  thus 
sacrificing  more  serious  duties,  and  even  injuring  his  health 
itself  by  taking  too  much  care  of  it.  Besides,  just  what 
ought  one  to  do  in  order  to  keep  well  ?  Should  one  weigh 
out  one's  food,  like  Cornaro  ?  Should  one  regulate  his  life 
as  by  clock-work?  Should  one,  like  Kant,  make  it  a  rule 
never  to  speak  in  the  open  air,  so  as  to  avoid  breathing 
through  the  mouth,  which  he  believed  to  be  injurious  to  the 
chest?  Cannot  every  one  see  that  these  precautions  are 
unworthy  of  a  man,  and  that  frequently  they  militate  against 
the  very  end  which  they  are  intended  to  serve  ?  One  should, 
then,  do  as  one  can,  and  as  one  wills,  provided  that  one  avoids 
useless  and  unreasonable  imprudences,  and  that  one  uses 


1  As  yet  we  will  not  consider  the  difficulties  which  arise  from  the  conflict 
of  duties,  of  which  I  shall  speak  later  (see  chap.  vii.).  For  example,  did  not 
he  who  voluntarily  threw  himself  into  a  gulf  to  save  his  country  commit 
suicide  ?  and  is  not  such  a  suicide  legitimate  ? 


200  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

manly  precautions  with  moderation.  But  do  we  not  thus 
transform  a  strict  duty  into  one  that  is  indefinite  ?  This  is 
the  necessary  result,  not  of  the  duty  itself,  but  of  the  sub- 
stance of  the  duty. 

Of  all  duties  to  ourselves,  the  one  which  seems  to  present 
the  strictest  character  is  that  of  not  lying.  Here,  again,  it 
is  the  substance  of  the  duty  which  occasions  its  exactitude. 
What,  indeed,  is  the  subject  of  this  duty  ?  It  is  speech,  and 
speech  in  its  relation  to  thought.  Now,  speech,  or  articulate 
sound,  is  a  material  phenomenon  which  is  limited  and  definite. 
One  word  is  clearly  distinguished  from  another  word  because 
of  articulation.  It  is,  then,  an  exact  thing.  Furthermore, 
each  word  corresponds  to  an  idea ;  and  any  one  who  does  not 
examine  the  matter  too  closely  may  readily  believe  that  there 
is  a  strict  and  constant  relation  between  the  two.  This  rela- 
tion is  at  least  sufficiently  defined  for  all  the  practical  purposes 
of  life.  For  example,  if  any  one  asks  you ;  Did  you  see  a 
certain  person  perform  a  certain  action  ?  the  relation  of  the 
words  to  the  ideas  is  sufficiently  exact  to  prevent  the  question 
from  having  two  meanings,  and  the  words  which  can  be  used 
in  reply  will  also  have  but  one.  Hence  comes  the  strict  obli- 
gation not  to  use  words  save  for  the  expression  of  thought.1 
But  when  this  sort  of  duty  is  represented  as  absolutely  strict, 
and  without  any  indefiniteness  in  application,  it  is  because 
merely  the  expression  of  thought  by  speech  is  considered. 
Now,  this  is  far  from  being  the  sole  manifestation  of  thought. 
Further,  speech  is  here  regarded  merely  as  the  expression  of 
thought,  while  it  is  also  the  expression  of  the  feelings.    Now, 

1  I  would  also  remark,  that,  from  a  strict  point  of  view,  a  pedantic  morality 
might  regard  all  rhetorical  figures  as  violations  of  the  duty  of  sincerity. 
"  Achilles  is  a  lion,"  you  say.  No,  he  is  not  a  lion  :  he  is  merely  like  a  lion. 
You  do  not  speak  the  exact  truth.  Instead  of  saying,  He  is  dead,  mortuus  est, 
the  Latins  said,  Fuit,  he  once  existed.  That  is  not  the  whole  truth.  Why 
will  you  lead  my  mind  away  from  the  thing  itself,  and  draw  its  attention  to 
another  idea  which  enfeebles  the  truth  ?  All  these  refinements  of  language 
are  only  weaker  forms  of  crude  truth,  and  consequently  they  are  half  false. 
AJcestes  himself,  in  spite  of  his  excessive  severity,  lies  in  saying,  "  I  do  not 
say  that,"  when  it  is  precisely  what  he  means  to  say. 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE   DUTIES.  201 

while  the  expression  of  thought  may  be  the  object  of  a  strict 
and  definite  law,  is  it  the  same  with  the  expression  of  the 
feelings?  And  if  speech,  as  a  means  of  expression,  is  amen- 
able to  law,  is  the  same  thing  true  of  the  face,  or  of  every 
other  mode  of  expression  ? 

Thus  sometimes  the  things  expressed  are  of  an  indefinite 
character,  sometimes  the  medium  of  expression  is  itself 
indefinite.  Hence  the  relation  of  the  sign  to  the  thing  sig- 
nified becomes  more  and  more  vague,  and  at  last  can  be 
subjected  to  no  precise  rule.  Who  can  be  under  obligation 
to  express  with  absolute  correctness  the  interior  state  of  his 
soul,  since  that  is  impossible  ?  Who  can  be  under  obligation 
to  make  note  of  all  possible  facial  expressions,  so  as  to  apply 
each  of  them  to  each  of  the  states  of  the  soul  to  which  they 
naturally  correspond  ?  No  morality  ever  went  so  far  as  that, 
because  it  would  be  absurd.  Rather,  the  language  of  the 
features  has  always  been  regarded  as  free  from  the  dominion 
of  the  law  which  controls  speech.  For  example,  the  wise 
man  is  commanded  to  hide  his  suffering  under  the  mask  of 
serenity:  we  admire  a  man  who  can  smile  while  suffering 
anxiety  and  anguish  of  mind.  But  to  keep  a  placid  coun- 
tenance when  the  heart  is  breaking,  is  not  this  really  to 
change  the  relation  between  the  sign  and  the  thing  signi- 
fied? What  difference  is  there  between  a  physician  who 
deceives  his  patient  by  words,  and  a  friend  who  deceives 
you  by  his  looks  and  smiles  ?  Will  you  tell  a  woman  who, 
in  spite  of  herself,  feels  a  passion  against  which  she  struggles, 
that,  to  be  sincere,  she  ought  to  express  this  passion  in  her 
looks  and  her  features?  Most  certainly  not.  Whence  come 
these  differences?  From  the  fact,  that  as  the  physiognomy 
gives  a  succession  of  varying  and  indefinite  signs,1  for  which 

1  I  am  far  from  meaning  that  one  may  not  lie  with  one's  physiognomy,  as 
when,  for  instance,  one  shows  a  friendly  face  to  one  whom  one  is  determined 
to  ruin. 

"  I  embrace  my  rival,  but  it  is  that  I  may  strangle  him." 
But  I  do  say  that  the  duty  becomes  indefinite  in  proportion  as  the  signs 
become  more  vague. 


202  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

no  exact  alphabet  can  be  given,  we  have  been  led  to  permit 
to  this  language  a  certain  latitude  which  articulate  speech 
is  not  allowed. 

We  have  just  seen  that  the  greater  part  of  the  duties 
called  definite  become  indefinite  when  circumstances  are 
altered.  Conversely,  indefinite  duties  become  strictly  de- 
fined when  circumstances  are  changed.  For  example,  we 
say  that  the  duty  of  doing  good  to  men  is  an  indefinite  duty  ; 
because  no  one  can  determine  a  priori  the  when,  how,  or 
how  much  (quando,  quomodo,  quantum'). 

But  imagine  a  rich  man  in  the  presence  of  one  who  is 
dying  of  hunger:  could  any  one  say  that  the  duty  of  the 
former  to  help  the  latter  is  an  indefinite  duty,  which  leaves 
him  at  all  at  liberty  to  defer  its  fulfilment?  Certainly  not: 
the  definiteness  of  the  circumstances  renders  the  duty  equally 
precise,  more  so,  perhaps,  than  any  duty  whatever  of  justice. 
All  the  elementary  duties  of  charity  are  of  this  sort.  So  are 
those  which  were  recognized  even  by  the  most  ignorant  of 
the  ancients,  which  Cicero  rehearses :  "  To  give  fire  to  him 
who  asks  it,  to  show  the  way  to  him  who  is  lost,  to  give 
honest  advice  to  one  who  is  making  up  his  mind,"  etc. 
Those  elementary  duties  are  included  in  the  duties  of  be- 
nevolence and  humanity.  Yet  they  are  definite  duties. 
But  vary  and  multiply  the  circumstances,  and  the  duty  of 
humanity  then  becomes  more  and  more  indefinite,  in  pro- 
portion as  it  concerns  more  complex  situations,  or  goods 
of  a  more  ethereal  nature,  such  as  consolation,  instruction, 
labor,  etc. 

A  more  profound  theory  of  definite  and  indefinite  duties 
is  that  which  bases  the  former  upon  the  idea  of  right.  A 
definite  duty  is  one  which  corresponds  to  the  right  (which 
can  never  be  violated  under  any  pretext).  An  indefinite 
duty  is  one  for  which  there  is  no  corresponding  right :  thus 
it  is  said,  justice  is  a  definite  duty,  because  it  is  respect  for 
the  rights  of  others  (not  taking  the  property,  or  the  life,  or 
the  honor,  of  citizens).     Charity  is  an  indefinite  duty,  be- 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  203 

cause  no  man  has  a  right  to  the  charity  of  others.  As  a 
corollary  to  this  theory,  it  is  added  that  right  implies  the 
power  of  constraint:  this  is  why  you  can  be  compelled  to 
practice  justice,  but  not  charity. 

Nothing  can  be  truer  than  this  theory  up  to  a  certain 
point,  and  there  is  danger  of  destroying,  in  trying  to  per- 
fect, it.  It  is  certain  that  we  must  in  the  first  place  make 
sure  that  rights  will  be  respected,  and  for  this  purpose  we 
must  admit  that  there  is  something  inviolable  to  which  defi- 
nite duty  corresponds.  I  will  readily  grant  this,  provided 
it  is  admitted  that  this  is  merely  the  minimum,  and  that  the 
domain  of  right  includes  much  more  than  that  which  can 
be  accomplished  under  constraint. 

It  is  the  same  with  right  as  with  duty.  Sometimes  it  is 
definite,  sometimes  indefinite.  It  is  definite  whenever  it  can 
be  represented  under  a  material  form,  exerting  itself  within 
time  and  space,  in  concrete  and  determinable  acts.  It  is 
here,  in  this  domain,  that  constraint  is  a  legitimate  and 
possible  means  of  action.  But,  beyond  and  above  this,  there 
is  another,  a  purely  moral,  domain  from  which  right  is  not 
absent,  but  in  which  it  becomes  indefinite,  like  duty  itself, 
and  where  constraint  is  inapplicable.  For  instance,  liberty 
of  thought  is  a  right ;  and  consequently  it  is  a  duty  in  strict 
justice  not  to  interfere  with  other  men's  liberty  of  thought, 
so  far  as  that  does  not  itself  interfere  with  others.  Very 
well ;  but,  when  this  right  is  represented  as  something  invio- 
lable and  absolute,  it  is  always  implied  that  this  refers  to 
the  exterior  expression  of  the  thought,  as  by  the  publication 
of  a  book,  or  by  public  speaking.  It  is  on  condition  that  you 
give  to  this  right  this  material  and  external  form  or  symbol, 
that  you  will  find  in  it  something  fixed  and  definite  before 
which  all  constraint  should  pause.  But  putting  aside  the 
very  complicated  question  of  the  conflict  of  rights,  as  we 
have  just  before  set  aside  that  of  the  conflict  of  duties, 
it  must  be  said  that  the  right  goes  far  beyond  the  limits  here 
established.     Men  have  a  right  to  free  thought,  not  only 


204  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

externally,  but  internally.  Freedom  of  the  press  concerns, 
or  seems  to  concern,  only  writers ; a  but  freedom  of  internal 
thought  is  the  right  of  each  one  of  us.  Now,  this  interior 
freedom  cannot  be  affected  by  the  action  of  the  state  (except 
indirectly  by  the  repression  of  the  other),  but  it  may  be 
assailed  and  violated  at  any  moment  by  any  one  of  us  in  his 
relations  to  others.  It  may  be  so  in  education,  for  instance, 
if  the  method  of  authority  is  abused,  if  laws  are  laid  down 
without  permitting  or  teaching  the  mind  to  discover  them  for 
itself.  It  may  be  so  in  the  intercourse  of  intelligent  minds 
with  those  which  are  not  so,  by  presenting  to  the  latter 
only  one  side  of  a  subject,  while  knowing  that  they  are  inca- 
pable of  perceiving  the  other  without  assistance.  There  is, 
then,  a  source  of  oppression  which  has  no  material  and  fixed 
standard,  but  which,  pushed  to  an  extreme,  would  result  in 
the  actual  annihilation  of  individual  freedom.  Yet  who  can 
fix  the  precise  limit  and  degree  of  this  ?  For  instance,  how 
can  we  determine  to  what  extent  the  method  of  authority 
should  be  adopted  in  education?2  We  may,  indeed,  say  that 
it  is  the  duty  of  education  to  offer  the  greatest  possible 
freedom  to  the  disciple.  But  the  quantum  of  this  liberty 
cannot  be  determined  in  advance,  for  it  depends  upon  the 
pupil's  strength  of  mind.  Moreover,  however  strong  he  may 
be,  it  is  necessary  to  furnish  him  with  the  materials  for 
thought  before  he  knows  how  to  use  them ;  and  therefore 
the  method  of  authority  is,  to  some  extent,  necessary  and 


1  This  is  why  the  common  people  have  never  taken  up  this  cause  enthusi- 
astically, except  as  a  pretext.  It  is  not  the  same  with  liberty  of  conscience, 
the  right  of  property,  etc. 

2  We  know  that  the  analytical  method,  which  compels  the  mind  of  the 
pupil  to  find  for  itself  the  desired  solution,  is  better  suited  to  develop  mental 
freedom  than  is  the  synthetic  method,  which  deduces  the  solution  from  prin- 
ciples previously  laid  down.  But  would  it  not  be  ridiculous  to  make  it  a  duty 
to  prefer  analysis  to  synthesis  ?  Do  we  not  know  that  the  choice  must  depend 
on  a  thousand  things,  especially  the  ability  of  the  teacher,  since  it  is  very 
difficult  to  teach  by  analysis  ?  It  has  been  said  a  thousand  times,  that  the 
teacher  should  follow  the  Socratic  method  ;  but  it  is  much  easier  to  say  that 
than  to  do  it.    Only  one  Socrates  has  ever  lived. 


DEFINITE   AND   INDEFINITE  DUTIES 


UNIVJjJISITJ 


inevitable.  The  same  is  true  of  intercourse  between' 
wise  and  the  simple.  To  tell  the  latter  every  thing,  would 
be  to  make  them  absolutely  incapable  of  choosing,  for  it  is 
frequently  in  this  that  wisdom  itself  consists.  It  follows 
that  the  right  of  thinking  for  one's  self  (excepting  as  re- 
gards the  material  symbol  of  a  book  or  of  speech)  is 
essentially  indefinite,  and  that  the  duties  which  correspond 
to  it  are  equally  so. 

We  may  say  the  same  thing  of  freedom  of  conscience  as  of 
freedom  of  thought.  So  long  as  we  represent  it  to  ourselves 
by  means  of  material  symbols  (such,  for  example,  as  the  right 
of  assembling  together  in  a  temple,  of  writing  and  speaking 
freely,  of  praying  in  a  certain  way,  of  making  use  of  certain 
ceremonies,  etc.),  the  right  is  perfectly  definite,  and  the 
'duty  corresponding  to  such  a  right  is  definite.  But  I  say 
that  the  right  goes  far  beyond  this,  for  it  is  not  enough  to  be 
respected  materially :  I  have  a  right  to  be  respected  morally. 
Whoever  insults  my  faith  or  my  opinion,  not  only  grieves 
and  wounds  me  (which  might  be  contrary  merely  to  charity), 
but  also  tends  to  the  interdiction  of  the  public  expression 
of  my  belief,  and  thus  he  assails  my  right  and  my  freedom. 
For  instance,  individuals  are  fully  justified  in  saying  that 
their  liberty  is  assailed  when  their  opinions  are  represented 
as  shameful,  odious,  subversive;  for  by  this  means  a  prejudice 
against  them  is  created,  so  that  those  who  mentally  hold  the 
same  opinions  will  be  afraid  or  ashamed  to  profess  them. 
But  the  very  same  unbelievers  who  complain  that  they  are 
slandered,  do  not  think  it  wrong  when  they  themselves  act  in 
a  precisely  similar  way,  in  accusing  the  opinions  contrary  to 
theirs  of  being  silly,  blind,  and  degrading  superstitions,  etc. : 
thus  they  also  create  a  prejudice  against  these  same  doc- 
trines, and  it  takes  a  certain  amount  of  courage  to  risk  the 
loss   of  human   respect.1      But  to  what   extent   should  we 

1  It  is  quite  true,  that,  in  actual  society  (outside  of  certain  definite  circles), 
it  takes  quite  as  much  courage  to  have  a  great  deal  of  faith  as  it  does  to  be 
very  sceptical.     Only  moderate  opinions  prevail,  and  are  well  received  — or 


206  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

carry  this  respect  for  the  beliefs  of  others  ?  Who  can  answer  ? 
Should  we  carry  it  so  far  as  to  pay  no  attention  to  them,  and 
neither  combat  nor  refute  them  ?  But  this  would  require  a 
preliminary  truce  between  all  opinions,  for  it  is  just  that 
when  one  is  attacked  he  should  defend  himself.  Such  a 
truce  would  be  a  pure  chimera.  Moreover,  it  is  my  right, 
not  only  to  profess  the  truth,  but  to  propagate  it.  I  can- 
not believe  that  I  possess  the  truth  without  believing  that 
others  are  in  error:  if  so,  must  it  not  be  my  duty  to  un- 
deceive men  ?  And,  if  it  is  my  duty,  it  is  plainly  my  right. 
Thus  neither  criticism,  discussion,  nor  polemics,  can  be  for- 
bidden. But,  looking  at  the  matter  more  closely,  we  shall 
see  that  the  most  offensive  thing  that  can  be  said  to  a  man 
is,  that  he  is  mistaken.  In  whatever  way  this  may  be  done, 
he  will  always  think  it  done  badly,  and  will  take  offence. 
All  who  have  ever  been  engaged  in  a  controversy,  know 
that  there  is  but  one  way  of  satisfying  the  adversary  with 
whom  one  argues ;  and  that  is,  to  tell  him  that  he  is  right. 
I  am  under  obligation  to  respect  your  rights,  but  not  your 
susceptibility ;  I  owe  respect  to  your  character,  but  not  to 
your  errors ;  and  an  excess  of  politeness  might  be  treason  to 
the  truth.  Again,  if  an  opinion  is  not  immoral,  I  certainly 
ought  not  to  regard  it  as  being  so ;  but,  if  it  is,  why  should 
I  not  say  so?  I  ought  not  to  call  a  noble  and  generous 
faith  an  ignoble  superstition ;  but,  if  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  an  ignoble  superstition,  why  should  I  not  say  so  ?  From 
all  these  considerations,  we  see  how  delicate  and  difficult  a 
matter  it  is  to  fix  the  limits  which  shall  separate  criticism 
from  abuse.  Abuse  violates  the  liberty  of  another,  but  the 
renunciation  of  all  criticism  violates  my  own.  There  must 
be  a  mean  between  the  two  which  cannot  be  fixed  by  any 


what  is  preferred  still  more,  silence  is  enjoined.  From  this  we  see  how  con- 
trary to  free  thought  is  the  system  of  mutual  recriminations;  for  it  tends  to 
produce  a  negative  and  dull  mediocrity,  which  is  not  without  hypocrisy. 
Those  who  attack  faith  most  violently  as  being  under  suspicion  of  hypocrisy, 
do  not  see  that  they  contribute  to  this  result  quite  as  much  as  do  the  others. 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  207 

absolute  rule.  The  duty  is,  then,  indefinite,  because  the 
right  itself  is  so.1 

As  a  criterion  for  definite  and  indefinite  duties,  it  has 
been  said  that  the  first,  corresponding  to  rights,  may  be  en- 
forced by  constraint,  and  that  the  second  cannot  be.  For 
instance,  we  may  constrain  a  man  to  pay  his  debts :  we  can- 
not constrain  him  to  give  alms.  This  criterion  is  altogether 
insufficient  for  these  reasons :  — 

First,  It  does  not  apply  to  every  case — for  instance,  to  our 
duties  toward  ourselves ;  for  a  man  cannot  constrain  himself 
by  force  to  fulfil  his  duties  toward  himself.  The  duty  of 
telling  the  truth  cannot  be  enforced  by  constraint  —  except 
so  far  as  it  is  a  social  duty.  Even  in  matters  of  social  duty, 
there  are  definite  duties  which  cannot  be  enforced  by  con- 
straint ;  for  instance,  distributive  justice,  gratitude,  and  the 
duties  of  sons  to  their  parents,  are  definite,  but  constraint 
can  be  applied  only  so  far  as  they  are  material.  For  ex- 
ample, the  law  will  compel  a  son  to  give  his  father  food,  but 
it  will  not  compel  him  to  love  and  respect  him  in  his  heart.2 
Must  we,  then,  regard  family  duties  as  indefinite  ? 

Second,  The  right  of  constraint  cannot  serve  to  compel 
recognition  of  the  right ;  for  it  is  itself  but  a  consequence  of 
that  right,  and  can  be  employed  only  on  condition  that  the 
right  which  is  to  be  protected  has  been  previously  estab- 
lished. It  is  not  the  right  of  constraint  upon  which  the 
other  right  is  based,  but  that  other  right  involves  as  its  cor- 
ollary the  right  of  constraint.3  Hence,  to  know  just  how  far 
I  may  make  use  of  constraint  (that  of  the  law)  to  compel 
respect  for  my  conscience  and  my  faith,  I  must  first  know 

1  Excellent  remarks  upon  duty  in  a  case  of  philosophical  controversy  will 
be  found  in  Thurot's  book:  La  Raison  et  V Entendement  (Paris,  1883),  t.  i.,  p.  328. 

2  Here,  too,  duty  cannot  be  strictly  determined,  save  from  the  material 
point  of  view.  One  should  never  be  lacking  in  respect  to  one's  parents  in 
material  things:  but,  as  to  interior  respect,  that  does  not  depend  upon  the 
will ;  for  no  effort  could  make  me  wish  to  respect  one  whom  I  should  see  and 
know  to  be  in  a  condition  which  is  unworthy  of  respect. 

8  See  this  deduction  in  Kant,  Eechtslehre. 


208  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

how  far  this  right  extends.  It  is  not  until  the  true  limits  of 
abuse  and  criticism  are  determined  that  I  (or  the  law  in  my 
place)  may  compel  the  cessation  of  abuse.  And  just  here 
we  encounter  that  almost  insuperable  difficulty  in  this  prob- 
lem, which  has  led  right-minded  people  to  agree  more  and 
more  fully  in  demanding  that  no  constraint  shall  be  em- 
ployed in  this  case,  believing  that  the  reconciling  of  liberties 
will  be  better  accomplished  by  custom  and  by  reciprocal 
concessions  than  by  a  rude  intervention  from  without,  which 
always  threatens  to  strike  down  the  right  when  striking  at 
an  abuse. 

Third,  In  some  cases  a  desire  for  liberty  is  all  that  is 
needed  for  its  exercise :  the  violation  of  the  right  consists, 
then,  in  blinding  the  desire,  or  putting  it  to  sleep.  This  is 
the  case  in  moral  or  intellectual  tyranny.  In  such  a  case 
the  right  of  constraint  is  impossible,  so  long  as  the  right  is 
unconscious  of  its  own  violation ;  and  it  becomes  unnecessary 
so  soon  as  this  consciousness  is  aroused.  For  instance,  you 
desire  to  retain  me  in  intellectual  servitude ;  but  so  soon  as 
I  perceive  this,  I  have  only  to  will,  and  the  servitude  ceases. 
You  give  me  poor  reasons :  I  have  only  to  make  objections, 
and  you  will  be  forced  to  give  me  good  ones.  If,  however, 
I  do  not  perceive  any  thing  of  this,  of  what  use  will  my  right 
to  force  you  to  respect  my  reason  be  to  me  ? 

Finally,  to  sum  up  this  whole  discussion,  if  you  consider  a 
duty  in  itself,  in  relation  to  its  form,  you  will  see  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  an  indefinite  duty.  A  duty  is  a  duty : 
if  it  were  not  completely  a  duty,  it  would  not  be  one  at  all. 
To  admit  that  a  duty  may  be  indefinite  in  itself  and  in  its 
essence,  is  to  admit  that  it  is  not  entirely  a  duty,  that  it  is 
so  more  or  less,  which  is  a  contradiction.  In  this  sense, 
every  duty  is  definite. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  we  consider  duty  in  relation  to  its 
substance,  to  the  thing  commanded,  we  shall  see  that  the 
duty  is  absolutely  definite  only  when  its  substance  is  a 
physical,  limited,  and  measurable  object,  recognizable    by 


DEFINITE  AND  INDEFINITE  DUTIES.  209 

definite  signs.  But  so  soon  as  duty  rises  higher,  when  it 
applies  to  more  spiritual  things,  to  the  soul,  to  the  feelings, 
and,  generally  speaking,  to  any  object  whatever  whose 
nature  is  undefined,  then  the  duty  itself  becomes  undefined. 
This  is  what  is  signified  by  the  expression  indefinite  duties, 
which,  far  from  designating  the  lowest  and  least  of  our 
duties,  refers,  on  the  contrary,  to  those  that  are  noblest, 
purest,  and  most  spiritual. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RIGHT  AND  DUTY. 

npHUS  far  we  have  inquired  into  the  nature  and  the  basis 
-*-  of  duty,  without  concerning  ourselves  with  another 
idea  which  is  in  a  certain  sense  correlative  to  it,  and  is  rarely 
separated  from  it;  that  is,  the  idea  of  right.  It  was  only 
incidentally  that  this  idea  was  introduced  in  the  preceding 
chapter.  Yet,  according  to  certain  schools,  right  is  the  basis 
and  essential  principle  of  duty :  it  is  because  there  are  rights 
that  there  are  duties.  Hence  the  idea  of  right  should  pre- 
cede that  of  duty,  and  it  is  only  by  establishing  the  former 
that  we  can  obtain  a  firm  foundation  for  the  latter.  Accord- 
ing to  other  philosophers,  on  the  contrary,  right  is  based 
upon  duty.  It  is  necessary  to  investigate  this  question. 
Let  us  first  endeavor  to  determine  what  we  are  to  under- 
stand by  the  word  right  (droit). 

Leibnitz  gives  a  definition  of  right  (droit)  which  may 
serve  as  our  point  of  departure:  "Right"  {droit),  he  says, 
"  is  a  moral  power,  as  duty  is  a  moral  necessity."  To  com- 
prehend this  definition  thoroughly,  we  must  first  distinguish 
the  different  meanings  of  the  word. 

The  name  droit1  is  given,  first,  to  that  science  which 
devotes  itself  to  defining  the  rights  of  man,  either  natural, 
civil,  or  international.  Hence  comes  what  we  call  civil  law 
(droit  civil),  international  law  (droit  des  gens),  natural  law 
(droit  naturel),  penal  law  (droit  pe*nal),  etc.     All  of  these 

\}  The  whole  force  of  this  introduction  depends  upon  the  fact  that  in 
French  droit  has  a  wider  and  more  varied  signification  than  right  in  English. 
This  is  obvious  from  the  text.  —  Trans.] 
210 


RIGHT  AND  DUTY.  211 

special  sciences  are  included  in  a  more  general  one,  which 
is  called  le  Droit  (Doctrine  of  rights). 

If  from  the  science  of  law  (droit)  we  pass  to  its  object, 
which  bears  the  same  name,  we  shall  find  that  the  word  still 
has  two  meanings. 

1.  It  means,  taken  abstractly,  that  civil  or  natural  law 
(droit)  which  regulates  the  relations  between  men  or  citi- 
zens, and  which  tells  them  what  is  forbidden  or  permitted. 
Hence  the  early  jurisconsults,  adopting  a  somewhat  doubtful 
etymology,  derived  the  word  jus  justum  (droit)  from  jussum 
(that  which  is  ordained).  It  is  in  this  sense  that  Alcestes, 
in  The  Misanthrope,  uses  the  word  droit,  when  he  says,  — 

"  When  I  have  on  my  side  droit,  good  sense  and  equity." 

Here  he  evidently  means  that  justice,  or  abstract  right,  is 
on  his  side  and  against  his  adversary.  Droit  here  signifies 
the  law  of  right  itself. 

2.  But  the  word  has  still  another  application,  and  this  is 
the  one  whose  true  and  exact  meaning  should  be  carefully 
studied.  Right  (droit)  is  a  prerogative  belonging  to  men, 
which  they  may  exercise  if  they  see  fit.  Thus,  to  have  the 
right  of  possession,  means  to  have  the  prerogative  and  the 
power  of  possessing :  to  have  the  right  to  marry,  means  to 
have  the  prerogative  and  the  power  of  marrying.  It  is  in 
this  sense,  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  that  Leibnitz  could 
say  that  droit  (right)  is  a  "moral  power." 

From  this  latter  meaning  we  can  readily  return  to  the 
preceding  ones,  and  familiarize  ourselves  with  the  usual 
equivocations  to  which  this  expression  gives  rise. 

Thus  man  receives  from  nature  or  society  certain  apti- 
tudes or  powers:  these  are  his  rights  (droits).  The  law 
(natural  or  civil)  which  regulates  these  powers,  and  deter- 
mines their  relations,  is  the  droit;  and  the  science  which 
investigates  this  law  is  also  the  droit.  Thus  the  science,  the 
.  law,  and  the  power,  bear  the  same  name ;  and  it  may  be 
said  that  a  jurisconsult  is  one  who  takes  for  his  study  the 


212  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

science  (droit)  which  has  for  its  object  the  law  (called  droit) 
which  regulates  the  relations  between  the  prerogatives  or 
aptitudes  (called  droits)  of  men  or  of  citizens. 

Having  cleared  away  these  equivocations,  let  us  try  to 
understand  distinctly  the  meaning  of  Leibnitz'  definition ; 
Right  is  a  moral  power. 

Generally  speaking,  we  call  any  cause  which  is  capable  of 
producing  or  of  arresting  an  action,  a  power  or  force.  Thus, 
in  mechanics,  every  thing  which  causes  motion  or  repose  is 
called  a  force.  Now,  any  thing  which  is  able  to  arrest  the 
action  of  a  force  or  a  power,  may  justly  itself  be  called  a 
force  or  power,  whatever  may  be  its  nature  otherwise.  For 
instance,  suppose  I  have  in  my  hands  a  hammer,  and  that 
before  me  lies  a  sleeping  child.  Undoubtedly,  if  I  choose,  I 
can  break  the  child's  head  with  the  hammer ;  yet  I  do  not 
do  it;  however  great  may  be  the  force  at  my  command,  there 
is  something  present  which  stops  me  —  an  invisible,  ideal 
obstacle,  more  forcible  than  all  my  force,  a  power  more 
powerful  than  all  my  power,  and  sufficient  to  disarm  mine. 
This  power,  of  which  the  child  is  not  even  conscious,  is  the 
right  which  every  living  creature  of  my  species  has  to  retain 
its  life,  so  long  as  it  does  not  assail  that  of  another. 

Do  you  say  that  in  this  case  the  power  that  arrests  me  is 
my  sympathy,  my  feeling  for  a  weak  and  innocent  creature, 
rather  than  a  right  of  which  I  am  not  even  thinking  at  the 
moment?  A  different  example  will  give  an  equally  clear 
illustration.  I  find  a  treasure.  I  know  to  whom  it  belongs, 
but  no  one  save  myself  knows  of  its  existence.  He  is  rich, 
I  am  poor.  Thus  there  is  no  chance  for  any  feeling  of 
sympathy.  I  have  the  physical  power  to  appropriate  the 
treasure,  but  I  am  arrested  by  the  thought  that  it  does  not 
belong  to  me,  but  to  another.  That  something  which  arrests 
me,  which  counterbalances  the  physical  power  that  I  could 
so  easily  exercise,  is  right. 

Right  is,  then,  a  power,  a  force,  since  it  arrests  the  action 
of  a  person's  power  and  force.     Yet  it  is  not  a  physical  force 


RIGHT  AND  DUTY.  213 

of  the  same  nature  with  that  which  it  arrests.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  object  of  the  right,  nothing  in  the  person  who 
is  the  subject  of  the  right,  which  is  of  such  a  nature  as  to 
oppose  any  obstacle  to  my  force.  Mechanics  cannot  find 
here  the  equivalent  of  the  hidden  or  latent  force  which 
might,  but  does  not,  act.  It  is  a  power,  but  it  is  a  moral 
power. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct  to  call  this  power  ideal, 
rather  than  moral.  Moral  power  is  a  force  acting  in  con- 
junction with  reflection  and  conscience,  an  energy,  a  true 
activity,  like  virtue.  But  right  may  exist  without  being 
exercised :  it  may  exist  when  the  one  possessing  it  is  igno- 
rant of  it  (as  in  the  case  of  the  unconscious  owner  of  the 
treasure,  or  as  in  that  of  the  sleeping  child).  We  have  here 
a  power  which  is  accompanied  neither  by  energy,  nor  by 
effort,  nor  by  action,  yet  which  arrests  me  just  as  effectually 
as  if  it  were  a  physical  force  equal  to  my  own.  This  power 
consists  simply  in  an  idea  —  the  idea  that  a  certain  object 
does  not  belong  to  me,  that  a  certain  man  is  my  fellow- 
creature.  This  is  an  ideal  power,  and  this  ideal  power  is 
what  I  call  the  right. 

Let  us  apply  this  idea  to  every  case  in  which  what  we  call 
right  becomes  manifest  to  us.  We  shall  see  that  we  can 
always  do  so  with  good  reason. 

There  are  three  principal  cases :  either  I  have  the  power 
without  having  the  right,  or  I  have  the  right  without  having 
the  power,  or  I  have  at  the  same  time  both  the  power  and  the 
right.  In  the  first  case  my  power  surpasses  my  right,  in 
the  second  it  is  inferior  to  it,  and  in  the  third  they  are  equal. 
When  my  power  surpasses  the  right,  one  force  absorbs 
another ;  but  the  latter  does  not  cease  to  exist ;  and,  although 
destitute  of  power,  it  is  none  the  less  a  force.  We  see  the 
same  thing  in  the  second  case  ;  for,  if  I  have  the  right  with- 
out having  the  power,  I  compel  my  oppressor  to  exert  a 
greater  degree  of  force  than  he  would  otherwise  have  needed. 
For  instance,  an  oppressed  nation  compels  its  oppressor  to 


214  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

use  more  effort  and  more  violence  than  would  be  necessary 
if  the  people  were  voluntarily  obedient.  Thus  we  see  that 
right  is  a  force  which  counterbalances  power.  Finally,  when 
the  power  is  equal  to  the  right,  we  may  say  that  there  is  a 
double  power,  as  in  the  case  of  parents,  where  there  is  both 
physical  power  and  that  of  reason. 

Unquestionably  there  are  cases  in  which  the  right  seems 
destitute  of  any  power  —  for  instance,  when  he  who  possesses 
it  is  unconscious  of  it,  and  makes  no  effort  to  defend  or 
recover  it,  as  in  the  case  previously  cited  of  a  treasure,  the 
very  existence  of  which  is  unknown  to  the  true  owner.  But 
here  it  is  the  same  with  right  as  with  duty.  Duty  is  a 
necessity  which  does  not  necessitate  any  thing,  and  right  is 
a  power  which  is  powerless.  This  is  why  the  one  is  a  moral 
necessity,  and  the  other  is  a  moral,  or  ideal,  power.  In  other 
words,  right,  like  duty,  is  only  an  idea.  An  idea  does  not 
act  by  itself.  Human  activity  must  always  take  the  initia- 
tive. Physical  force  can,  then,  always  override  the  idea,  and 
sometimes  can  even  do  this  without  any  extra  exertion. 
Nevertheless,  the  idea  remains,  and  it  exerts  its  power  either 
through  the  conscience,  or  in  the  memory,  of  men;  and 
finally,  even  if  all  these  means  of  action  are  interdicted,  it 
still  survives.  Oppressed,  despoiled,  vanquished,  it  is  yet 
more  noble  than  that  which  defies  it,  and  more  sovereign 
than  that  which  tramples  it  in  the  dust. 

The  idea  of  right  having  been  made  clear  by  the  preced- 
ing explanations,  let  us  now  consider  what  is  its  basis,  and 
whether  right  is  founded  upon  duty,  or  duty  upon  right. 

If  right  is  anterior  to  duty,  we  must  admit  that  it  is 
founded  upon  the  very  nature  of  man,  and  that  it  is  anterior 
to  all  morality.  But  we  may  answer  this  question  in  various 
ways.  We  may  say  with  Spinoza,  Hobbes,  and  Proudhon, 
that  right  (droit)  is  based  upon  force ;  or  with  certain  social- 
ists, that  it  is  founded  upon  necessity ;  or  finally,  with  Kant, 
and  above  all  with  Fichte,  that  its  basis  is  human  liberty. 

The  first  theory,  which  bases  right  upon  force,  is  simply 


RIGHT  AND   DUTY.  215 

the  suppression  of  right  itself.  If  we  use  the  word  force  or 
power  equivocally ;  if,  with  Spinoza,  we  distinguish  two  kinds 
of  states  —  the  state  of  nature  and  the  state  of  reason ;  and 
if  we  base  the  right  upon  the  power  of  reason  y— then  we 
merely  express  in  other  words  the  same  idea  which 'I  have 
already  explained;  that  is,  that  right  is  an  ideal  power. 
But  we  still  need  to  explain  why  this  power  is  not  invaria- 
bly the  strongest.  The  antinomy  of  force  and  right  shows 
plainly  that  there  is  in  right  something  ideal,  which  is  always 
sacred,  even  though  it  may  never  be  visibly  realized.  Now, 
what  we  need  to  explain  is,  how  an  idea  can  be  able  to  arrest 
force,  or,  if  it  does  not  arrest  it,  how  it  is  able  to  judge  and 
condemn  it.  If  there  is  not  something  which  is  called  duty, 
why  should  force  be  arrested  by  any  thing?  Suppress  the 
idea  of  duty  and  phenomena  will  no  longer  have  any  law  but 
the  laws  of  physics :  every  thing  which  is,  ought  to  be ;  and, 
as  Hobbes  says,  every  thing  which  is  necessary  is  legitimate. 
The  theory  which  bases  right  upon  necessity  seems  at  first 
more  generous  than  the  preceding,  but  in  an  ultimate  analysis 
it  comes  to  the  same  thing.  In  fact,  necessity  is  something 
vague  and  indefinite :  we  need  every  thing  which  we  desire. 
To  base  right  upon  necessity  is  equivalent  to  saying,  with 
Hobbes,  that  every  man  has  a  right  to  every  thing  that  he 
desires.  But,  as  he  may  desire  every  thing,  this  is  the  same 
as  saying  that  he  has  a  right  to  every  thing ;  and  as  every 
man  has  the  same  right  to  every  thing,  this  will  mean  the 
war  of  all  against  all.  In  such  a  war,  who  shall  be  arbitrator 
if  not  force,  or,  if  it  is  desired  to  avoid  using  force,  a  con- 
vention which  must  itself  be  sustained  by  force  ?  If  necessity 
is  not  understood  to  mean  every  kind  of  desire  in  general, 
but  only  what  are  called  legitimate  and  necessary  desires, 
who  shall  fix  the  limit  of  the  legitimate  and  necessary? 
Shall  it  be  confined  to  the  strictest  sense  —  that  is,  what  is 
necessary  to  sustain  life?  Then  all  the  most  noble  and 
charming  gifts  of  the  imagination  will  be  proscribed  as  illicit 
and  corrupting.     Shall  we  admit  superfluities  as  well  as 


216  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

necessaries?  To  what  superfluities  shall  the  right  of  each 
be  limited?  Finally,  does  necessity  include  the  free  and 
natural  exercise  of  our  faculties?  Then  we  pass  uncon- 
sciously over  to  the  third  theory,  which  bases  right,  not 
upon  feeling  or  necessity,  but  upon  liberty. 

This  third  theory  is  the  most  solid  and  noble.  It  assumes 
human  liberty  as  a  fact.  Man  is  free,  and  this  freedom  makes 
him  a  moral  personality.  Now,  it  is  said,  it  is  the  essential 
characteristic  of  liberty  that  it  is  inviolable ;  for,  when  we 
speak  of  freedom,  we  speak  of  a  power  whose  essence  it  is 
to  choose  between  two  actions,  and  consequently  to  be  the 
cause  of  the  action  chosen.  Whoever  abridges  our  liberty 
acts,  then,  in  opposition  to  the  nature  of  things.  Thus  he 
destroys  the  very  essence  of  man.  To  overpower  or  restrict 
one's  liberty  is  to  transform  him  from  a  person  to  a  thing. 
Hence  liberty  is  sacred ;  it  is  the  basis  of  right ;  and,  having 
postulated  right,  duty  naturally  flows  from  it.  In  a  word, 
the  formula  of  this  theory  is,  that  freedom  is  necessarily  free, 
and  that  it  would  be  a  self-contradiction  were  it  otherwise. 
Right  is  simply  the  liberty  of  freedom.  This  proposition, 
44  Human  personality  is  inviolable,"  is,  then,  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  Kant,  an  analytical  proposition ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  attribute  of  the  proposition  is  inevitably  included  in  the 
subject. 

According  to  this  theory,  nothing  can  be  simpler  than  the 
question  of  moral  obligation.  Duty  is  a  self-evident  conse- 
quence of  right,  and  right  is  a  self-evident  consequence  of 
liberty.  Consequently  it  is  unnecessary  to  seek  for  any 
higher  principle  as  the  basis  of  obligation.  Nothing  can  be 
simpler,  doubtless,  but  nothing  can  be  less  certain. 

When  it  is  stated  as  a  self-evident  proposition,  "The 
human  personality  is  inviolable,"  what  is  meant?  Is  it  in- 
violable in  fact,  or  in  justice  ?  In  fact  ?  Plainly  not,  since 
every  day  right  utters  its  protest  against  force.  In  justice  ? 
This  remains  to  be  proved.  Inviolable  may  mean  either  of 
two  things  —  something  that  cannot  be  violated,  or  something 


RIGHT  AND  DUTY.  217 

that  ought  not  to  be  so.  Now,  personality  is  not  inviolable 
in  the  former  sense :  it  undoubtedly  can  be,  since  it  so  often 
is,  violated.  Then,  it  is  only  in  the  second  sense  that  it  is 
inviolable,  but  to  say  that  it  ought  not  to  be  violated  is  to 
say  that  it  is  the  duty  of  others  not  to  violate  it.  But  why 
is  it  their  duty?  This  is  the  point  to  be  explained.  To 
admit  as  a  self-evident  fact  that  the  moral  personality  is 
inviolable  in  the  second  sense  of  that  word,  is  to  admit  the 
existence  of  a  self-evident  primitive  duty.  To  do  this  is  not 
basing  duty  upon  right.  Suppose  that,  as  yet,  there  were 
no  such  thing  as  duty:  then  I  see  no  reason  why  human 
personality  should  be  more  sacred  than  any  thing  else. 
Whence  comes  this  sacred  character  which  I  arbitrarily 
impute  to  it?  Setting  aside  the  idea  of  cluty,  liberty  is,  in 
my  view,  no  more  precious  than  any  other  force  of  nature. 
If  I  may  divert  a  brook  from  its  natural  channel,  I  do  not 
see  why  I  may  not  turn  the  liberty  of  another  away  from  its 
natural  course  to  subserve  my  own  interests. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  essential  character  of  liberty  is 
that  it  is  free,  and  that  therefore,  if  we  constrain  the  liberty 
of  another,  we  violate  the  nature  of  things,  and  commit  a 
self-evident  contradiction.  According  to  this  hypothesis, 
^justice  is  an  absurdity.  But  I  answer,  that,  in  the  strict 
meaning  of  the  word,  what  is  absurd  is  absolutely  impossible  : 
a  self-evident  contradiction  is  inconsistent  with  existence. 
From  the  very  fact  that  a  thing  is  absurd,  contrary  to  the 
nature  of  things,  it  is  clear  that  it  does  not,  and  can  not,  exist. 
Hence,  if  I  violate  liberty,  I  undoubtedly  do  what  is  unjust, 
bad,  and  absurd  morally,  but  not  logically.  Such  an  act  can- 
not be  contrary  to  the  nature  of  things,  since  it  is  a  reality. 
Doubtless  it  is  impossible  that  a  free  will  should  not  be  a 
free  will;  but  then,  in  that  sense,  I  am  utterly  powerless 
against  it.  I  cannot  do  violence  to  the  interior  will  of  one 
who  desires  to  resist  my  constraint.  But  that  the  free  will, 
inevitably  free  in  itself,  should  be  so  also  in  its  manifesta- 
tions, in  the  exercise  of  its  powers ;  that  it  should  be  so  in 


218  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

speech,  in  labor,  in  the  things  acquired,  etc.  —  all  this  is  by  no 
means  inevitable,  nor  is  it  logically  implied  in  the  conception 
of  a  free  will.  It  is,  then,  by  a  gratuitous  affirmation  that 
we  pass  from  the  inviolability  of  the  free  will,  considered  in 
itself,  to  that  of  its  external  manifestations ;  for  it  is  passing 
from  the  first  meaning  of  the  word  to  its  second,  from  that 
which  cannot  be  violated  to  that  which  ought  not  to  be  so. 
Free  will,  considered  in  itself,  cannot  be  violated ;  and  con- 
sequently it  is  superfluous  to  say  that  it  ought  not  to  be  so. 
Taken  in  its  manifestations,  it  undoubtedly  ought  not  to  be 
violated,  but  it  can  be ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  demonstrate 
why  this  should  not  be  done.  In  a  word,  the  proposition, 
"  Human  personality  is  inviolable,"  is  thoroughly  analytical 
in  the  first  sense,  but  it  is  also  useless  and  tautological :  in 
the  second  sense  it  is  true  and  instructive,  but  it  is  synthet- 
ical, and  requires  demonstration;  it  is  not  a  self-evident 
proposition,  and  cannot  serve  as  the  foundation  of  morality. 
Hence  I  do  not  believe  that  duty  is  based  upon  right.  Is 
it  true  that  right  is  based  upon  duty  ?  No  more  so  than  the 
converse.  See,  for  instance,  how  a  distinguished  moralist 
has  expressed  himself: 

"  The  law  of  duty  imprints  upon  my  whole  being,  upon  all  my  facul- 
ties, and  above  all  upon  my  liberty,  the  august  character  with  which  it 
is  itself  invested ;  for  he  who  desires  the  end,  desires  the  means  also.  It 
is  this  which  makes  me  an  object  to  be  respected  by  my  fellow-creatures, 
and  makes  them  the  object  of  my  respect.  It  is  this  which  constitutes 
me  a  person  —  that  is  to  say,  a  being  who  belongs  only  to  himself :  it  is 
this,  finally,  which  constitutes  right;  right  exists  only  through  duty."  1 

I  cannot  accept  this  point  of  view,  which  returns  to  what 
I  have  already  called  purely  formal  moral  science;  which 
calls  duty  a  principle,  instead  of  calling  it  what  it  really  is 
—  a  consequence.  It  is  duty,  you  say,  which  imprints  dig- 
nity upon  my  faculties.  Then  they  have  none  in  themselves 
if  the  law  of  duty  is  taken  away.    But,  if  this  is  true,  whence 

i  Ad.  Franck,  Morale  pour  tons. 


RIGHT  AND  DUTY.  219 

does  duty  itself  come  ?  Are  there  not,  among  other  duties, 
duties  toward  myself,  such  as  temperance  ?  What  obligation 
is  there  to  the  fulfilment  of  these  duties  if  not  that  of  re- 
specting my  own  faculties?  And  if  these  faculties  have 
in  themselves  no  dignity,  nothing  august  and  sacred,  why 
should  I  be  required  to  respect,  and  not  to  degrade,  them  ? 
For  instance,  why  ought  I  to  prefer  the  goods  of  the  soul  to 
those  of  the  body ;  and,  among  the .  goods  of  the  soul,  why 
prefer  those  of  the  mind  and  heart  to  those  of  the  passions  ? 
Similarly,  if  human  nature  has  not  already  in  itself,  as  it 
exists  in  my  fellow-creatures,  something  august  and  sacred 
(homo  res  sacra  homini),  why  should  I  be  required  to  respect 
in  them  something  which  has  no  intrinsic  value  ?  Are  we 
not  turning  in  a  vicious  circle  if  we  base  duty  upon  the  re- 
spect due  to  human  nature,  and  this  respect  itself  upon  the 
law  of  duty?  If  there  were  no  difference  between  man  and 
the  brutes,  there  would  be  no  reason  why  a  man  should  not 
treat  himself  and  his  fellow-creatures  as  he  would  the  brutes. 
If  man  were  not  composed  of  soul  and  body,  there  would  be 
no  reason  why  he  should,  in  himself  or  in  others,  prefer  the 
soul  to  the  body.  If  there  were  not  a  common  bond  of  iden- 
tity and  community  of  nature  between  men,  there  would  be 
no  reason  why  one  ought  to  treat  one's  fellow-creatures  as 
brothers.  Thus  the  dignity  of  human  nature  is  not  based 
upon  duty :  it  is  upon  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  which 
is  the  same  in  others  as  in  ourselves,  that  duty  is  founded. 

Thus  I  do  not  admit  either  that  duty  is  based  upon  right, 
or  that  right  is  based  upon  duty.  But  duty  and  right  are 
established  at  the  same  time,  in  the  same  act,  by  the  same 
principle,  the  principle  of  the  essential  perfection  of  the  hu- 
man being — in  a  word,  upon  the  dignity  of  man,  on  which  I 
am  not  at  liberty  to  infringe,  either  in  myself  or  in  another. 

Let  us  recall  some  of  the  principles  already  stated,  and 
we  shall  see  how  from  these  same  principles  may  flow  two 
series  of  consequences,  one  of  which  constitutes  the  philoso- 
phy of  duty,  and  the  other  the  philosophy  of  right. 


220  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

I  cannot,  it  has  been  said,  conceive  the  perfection  of  my 
being  without  desiring  it.  This  superior  will,  in  so  far  as 
it  commands  the  inferior  will,  is  duty. 

But  this  perfection  which  duty  enjoins  upon  me,  and 
which  is  the  object  of  virtue,  is  such  that  it  must  be  attained 
by  the  efforts  of  each  individual.  One  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  essential  perfection  of  man  is,  that  the  individual  him- 
self is  able  to  acquire  a  constantly  increasing  perfection,  and 
is  himself  responsible  for  doing  so.  We  all  feel  that  a  per- 
fection which  is  obtained  by  our  own  exertions  is  superior 
to  that  which  we  acquire  by  means  of  others.  This  indi- 
vidual responsibility  in  its  characteristic  perfection  is  what 
I  call  right. 

Suppose  that  the  moral  nature  of  man  had  no  character- 
istic excellence,  no  intrinsic  value,  and  that  good  could  be 
measured  only  by  pleasure ;  then  there  would  be  no  right ; 
for  how  could  my  pleasure  or  my  pain  present  any  obstacle 
to  the  desires  of  another  ?  The  pleasure  of  one  is  worth  just 
as  much  as  the  pleasure  of  another :  if  you  enjoy  an  object, 
I  do  not  see  why  I  should  not  enjoy  it  too.  Hence  arise 
inevitable  conflicts,  and  the  right  of  force.  If  I  refrain  from 
appropriating  the  life,  the  labor,  the  honor,  the  liberty,  of  my 
fellow-creatures,  if  I  silence  my  own  appetites,  if  I  lay  down 
my  arms  before  that  which  is  not  myself,  it  is  because  I  have 
before  me  an  ideal  object  which  restrains  my  physical  power, 
and  places  an  obstacle  before  it  in  my  conscience ;  and  this 
ideal  object  is  the  same  which  I  feel  within  myself,  and  which 
enjoins  upon  me  duty  toward  myself;  it  is  human  dignity, 
the  essential  perfection  of  the  human  being.  None  of  the 
human  goods  which  I  have  just  enumerated  have  any  value 
except  as  they  are  related  to  this  ideal  perfection,  to  this 
pure  essence,  of  which  they  are  either  the  conditions,  the  ele- 
ments, or  the  means  of  action.  For  instance,  life  is  the  sub- 
stratum even  of  human  personality;  material  goods  are  its 
appendages  and  auxiliaries;  honor,  conscience,  liberty,  are 
its  constituent  parts ;  the  family,  the  country,  are  its  comple- 


RIGHT  AND  DUTY.  221 

ment.  Just  as  these  are  the  highest  goods  for  me,  so  they 
are  the  highest  goods  for  others ;  and  my  conscience  tells 
me  that  I  ought  not  to  injure  them  in  the  case  of  another 
any  more  than  in  my  own. 

But  just  as  I  might  injure  another  by  doing  him  too  much 
harm,  so  I  might  injure  him  by  doing  him  too  much  good, 
or  at  least  by  ill-judged  benefits.  Just  here  individual 
responsibility  becomes  an  essential  part  of  right.  For  ex- 
ample, if,  instead  of  attempting  to  take  the  lives  of  my  fel- 
low-creatures, I  assume  the  sole  care  of  supporting  their  lives ; 
if,  instead  of  depriving  them  of  the  fruits  of  their  labor,  I 
find  a  means  for  releasing  them  from  all  labor;  if  I  make 
their  families  my  own ;  if  I  devote  my  country,  my  religion, 
my  will,  not  to  their  oppression,  but,  on  the  contrary,  to 
making  them  happy,  as  I  believe — yet  in  this  case,  as  in 
the  other,  by  depriving  them  of  all  individual  effort,  of  all 
responsibility,  of  all  proper  activity,  I  shall  equally  violate 
the  right.  A  happy  slave  is  more  oppressed  than  a  wretched 
free  man :  this  fact  was  never  comprehended  by  those  who 
contrasted  the  happy  condition  of  the  negroes  in  America 
with  the  precarious  and  anxious  existence  of  European  work- 
men. It  is  the  mark  of  man's  superiority  that  he  feels  that 
he  is  not  himself  save  in  a  state  of  independence  and  free- 
dom, and  that  it  is  his  right  to  procure  his  own  happiness. 

We  see  thus  that  right  is  the  consequence  of  each  man's 
responsibility  to  himself:  it  is  the  faculty  of  aiding  in  work- 
ing out  his  own  destiny. 

It  is  in  this  sense  that  it  is  perfectly  correct  to  say  that 
human  personality  is  inviolable,  that  man  is  an  end  in  him- 
self. We  may  grant  that  in  this  sense  duty  is  based  upon 
right ;  for  it  is  because  man  is  an  end  in  himself,  that  duty 
forbids  any  attack  upon  his  faculties.  But  it  would  be 
equally  correct  to  say  conversely  that  right  is  based  upon 
duty,  for  it  is  because  I  am  required  to  aid  in  working  out 
my  own  destiny  that  I  am  an  end  in  myself.  In  reality,  as 
we  have  seen,  neither  of  them  is  based  upon  the  other,  but 


222  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

both  rest  upon  the  same  foundation  —  the  perfection  of  the 
human  being,  a  principle  whose  essential  condition  is,  that 
each  man  shall  be  responsible  for  his  own  destiny. 

To  carry  these  investigations  farther  would  be  to  leave 
my  chosen  field.  It  is  enough  to  have  shown  how  the  phi- 
losophy of  duty  is  united  with  the  philosophy  of  right,  and 
how  at  the  same  time  they  are  independent  of  each  other. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DIVISION  OP  DUTIES. 

rr^HE  question  as  to  the  division  of  duties  is  ordinarily 
w*  reserved  for  practical  morality.  Philosophers  are  gen- 
erally contented  with  establishing  in  theoretic  morality  the 
idea  of  duty :  the  question  of  duties  is  reserved  for  the  sec- 
ond part  of  the  science.  Indeed,  were  this  question  merely 
one  of  classification  and  a  convenient  arrangement  for  the 
study  and  exposition  of  special  duties,  it  might  be  granted 
that  it  is  the  natural  introduction  to  practical  ethics.  But 
the  question  is  of  greater  importance,  and  affects  the  very 
essence  of  duty;  for  the  point  is  to  decide  what  is  its 
domain,  how  far  it  extends,  whether  humanity  is  its  sole 
object,  or  whether,  on  the  contrary,  the  circle  of  our  obli- 
gations extends  above  or  below  us. 

Man  may  contemplate  himself  either  in  relation  to  himself, 
or  to  his  fellow-creatures,  or  to  the  beings  which  are  inferior 
to  him  (animals,  and  even  plants  and  elements),  or  to  what- 
ever is  superior  to  him  —  spirits,  if  he  admits  their  exist- 
ence —  and,  finally,  to  God,  the  author  of  all  things.  Now, 
the  question  is,  whether  man  has  duties  to  those  above 
or  below  him:  moreover,  if  we  inscribe  the  circle  of  duty 
strictly  within  the  bounds  of  humanity,  the  question  remains, 
whether  our  duties  toward  ourselves  lead  out  to  our  duties 
toward  others,  and  conversely,  or  whether  these  two  classes 
of  duties  are  irreducible.  Such  is  the  series  of  purely  theo- 
retical questions  raised  by  the  problem  of  the  division  of 
duties. 

Kant  circumscribes  the  circle  of  duties  by  humanity :  he 

223 


224  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

sets  aside  all  duties  toward  beings  who  are  either  inferior  or 
superior  to  ourselves.  We  owe  nothing,  he  says,  to  beings 
which  have  neither  duties  nor  rights  in  relation  to  us,  as  is 
the  case  with  our  inferiors.  Neither  do  we  owe  any  thing 
toward  beings,  who,  in  relation  to  us,  have  only  rights  with- 
out duties,  as  is  the  case  with  beings  superior  to  ourselves. 
To  the  first  class  belong  animals,  which  clearly  have  no 
duties  toward  us,  and  for  that  very  reason  have  no  rights :  we 
know  philosophically  but  one  being  belonging  to  the  second 
class,  and  that  one  is  God.  Now,  God,  or  the  all-powerful 
being,  has  every  right  over  us,  but  no  duty  toward  us. 
Hence  we  owe  nothing  either  to  the  animals  or  to  God. 

Those  arguments  seem  to  me  utterly  inadequate.  He 
says,  that,  as  animals  nave  no  rights,  we  owe  no  duties  to 
them.  But  those  who  say  this  recognize  in  general  that 
there  are  duties  which  correspond  to  no  rights.1  For  in- 
stance, it  is  our  duty  to  assist  our  fellow-creatures ;  yet  there 
are  philosophers  and  publicists  who  refuse  to  admit  the 
existence  of  a  right  to  require  assistance.  Hence,  even  if  we 
believe  that  animals  have  no  rights  of  any  sort,  it  does  not 
follow  that  we  have  no  duties  toward  them.  If  there  is  be- 
tween us  and  them  a  certain  affinity  of  nature,  a  certain 
sympathy,  a  sort  of  fraternity,  then  we  can  say  that  what 
makes  them  suffer  makes  us  suffer  too,  and  that  we  owe 
them  pity,  at  the  least. 

Besides,  is  it  true  that  an  animal  has  no  rights?  If,  as 
has  been  already  said,  right  is  an  ideal  power  which  resists 
physical  force,  I  recognize  such  a  power  in  the  animal :  for  if 
I  have  the  strength  to  wound  and  kill  him,  and  yet  abstain 
from  doing  so  without  any  motive  of  personal  interest,  but 
through  sympathy  for  him,  that  something  which  arrests  my 
arm  is  also  a  power ;  it  is  the  power  of  an  idea.  There  is, 
then,  in  the  nature  of  the  animal,  an  ideal  element  which 

1  Kant  has  nowhere  treated  specially  this  question  of  the  correlation  of 
duty  and  right.  But  it  is  clear  to  any  one  who  has  read  his  Rechtslehre  and 
Tugendlehre  that  he  does  not  confound  them  with  each  other. 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  225 

resists  my  physical  power.  Why  should  I  not  call  this  a 
right?  Setting  aside  all  theories,  I  say  that  a  being  endowed 
with  feeling  has  a  right  not  to  suffer;  that  if  an  animal 
struck  by  a  rude  hand  could  suddenly  acquire  speech,  he 
might  say  to  his  persecutor;  "What  have  I  done  to  you? 
Why  do  you  strike  me  ?  Why  do  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were 
a  senseless  thing?  I  am  like  you;  for,  like  you,  I  feel,  I  suf- 
fer, and  I  die."  What  reply  could  be  made  to  this  ?  I  do 
not  see.  Now,  the  being  who  could  speak  thus,  and  thus 
defend  his  right,  possesses  a  virtual  right,  even  although  he 
cannot  express  it. 

In  fact,  with  such  an  hypothesis,  it  becomes  difficult  to 
explain  the  right,  remorselessly  assumed  by  men,  of  killing 
animals  for  their  food,  or  of  subjecting  them  to  their  use  : 
indeed,  this  double  right  is  far  from  being  so  clear  in  theory 
as  its  necessity  seems  to  be  in  practice. 

When  I  see  harnessed  to  our  carriages,  weighed  down  by 
burdens,  urged  on  by  the  whip,  often  driven  by  creatures 
hardly  more  intelligent  than  himself,  that  noble  animal  so 
eloquently  described  by  Buffon,  I  ask  myself  whether  we 
really  have  a  right  to  take  from  their  forests,  from  their  wild 
life,  from  their  natural  associations,  so  many  animals  whom 
courage,  suppleness,  and  goodness  seem  to  render  worthy  of 
liberty.  Has  not  the  animal,  as  well  as  the  man,  a  right  to 
enjoy  his  faculties  without  constraint,  without  control,  at  his 
own  risk  and  peril  ?  And  though,  in  spite  of  these  protests 
of  nature,  we  have  not  hesitated  to  subject  them,  who  can  see 
in  this  any  right  but  that  of  the  strongest  ?  They  are  not 
persons,  do  you  say  ?  Then  they  have  no  rights.  Granted  ; 
but  yet  they  are  not  tilings.  What !  the  old  horse  who  carried 
you  in  your  childhood,  the  dog  who  saved  your  life,  these 
old  companions  in  your  hunts,  your  rides,  your  battles,  they 
are  all  things,  and  should  be  malleable  as  things !  Assuredly 
not.  The  jurisconsult  is  forced  to  number  animals  among 
things — this  is  always  the  result  of  slavery  —  but  in  the 
eyes  of  the  philosopher,  an  animal,  whatever  may  be  said,  is 


226  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

intermediate  between  a  thing  and  a  person ;  he  is  the  link 
between  one  and  the  other ;  he  is  a  demi-personality,  and  has 
demi-rights.1 

So  far  as  I  can  see,  the  only  theoretical  justification  there 
is  for  the  dominion  which  man  has  assumed  over  animals, 
lies  in  the  right  of  self-defence.  If  man  had  left  all  kinds 
of  animals  in  perfect  freedom,  they  would  have  disputed 
with  him  the  territory  of  the  earth,  and  would  finally  have 
taken  possession  of  every  thing.  Between  him  and  them 
there  is  a  struggle  for  existence.  He  might,  then,  have 
destroyed  them :  instead  of  that,  when  they  did  not  actually 
threaten  his  own  life,  he  brought  them  into  subjection,  which 
is  for  them  a  lesser  evil.  The  explanation  of  slavery  given 
by  the  old  jurisconsults  (servus  a  servando)  may  be  much 
more  justly  applied  to  animals.  We  may  say,  slightly  modi- 
fying the  morality  of  the  good  La  Fontaine;  To  serve  is 
better  than  to  die. 

As  to  the  right  of  living  upon  the  flesh  of  animals,  we 
may  say,  without  being  Pythagoreans,  that  this  is  far  from 
clear,  except  from  a  practical  point  of  view  (which  leaves  in 
peace  the  conscience  of  every  one,  even  of  a  philosopher) : 
certainly  it  is  not  theoretically  plain ;  for  we  observe  that 
the  animals  which  we  use  for  food  are  principally  herbivo- 
rous, or  are  fish ;  consequently  they  do  not  directly  menace 
our  own  lives,  and  their  death  is  not  the  direct  consequence 
of  the  right  of  self-defence.  But  if  they  menace  us  indi- 
rectly, as  we  have  just  said,  by  the  struggle  for  subsistence, 
we  have  a  right  to  destroy  them :  as  to  the  use  which  we 
make  of  them  after  their  death,  that  is  of  no  consequence.2 

However  that  may  be,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  greatest 

1  The  Stoics  said  of  man  that  he  was  a  demi-slave,  wi&ovkos,  meaning  by  this 
that  he  is  not  wholly  under  the  dominion  of  necessity.  To  my  mind  this 
expression  represents  very  well  the  condition  of  the  animal.  (CEnomaiis  ap. 
Euseb.,  Prcepar.  evang.  v.,  vi.) 

2  Here  I  might  cite  the  principle  of  final  causes,  as  I  have  done  in  my 
Elements  of  Moral  Science  (chap,  xi.,  §  2);  for  nature,  having  made  man  car- 
nivorous, seems  to  have  destined  him  to  eat  flesh,  and  thus  to  have  justified 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  227 

difficulty  does  not  lie  in  proving  that  we  have  duties  toward 
animals,  but  in  justifying  the  rights  over  them  which  we 
have  assumed. 

As  to  the  lower  forms  of  nature,  that  is  to  say,  as  to  things 
destitute  of  all  feeling  and  all  consciousness,  it  is  clear  that 
there  can  be  no  question  of  morality  in  regard  to  them  ;  for 
as  these  inorganic  things,  according  to  the  universal  laws  of 
nature,  pass  through  a  perpetual  circulation  and  an  incessant 
movement  of  transformation,  no  one  of  their  states  is  any 
more  conformable  to  nature  than  any  other :  and,  as  we  are 
powerless  to  act  contrary  to  natural  laws,  whatever  we  do, 
or  can  do,  remains  within  the  order  of  things,  and  can  have 
greater  or  less  value  only  from  the  stand-point  of  the 
necessities  of  human  nature,  consequently  from  its  relation 
to  our  social  duties.  At  the  utmost  we  can  only  inquire 
whether  it  is  permissible  needlessly  to  interrupt  the  life  of 
living  beings — for  example,  to  pluck  a  flower,1  or  break  off 
a  branch.  From  the  stand-point  of  those  who  regard  the 
essential  principle  of  morality  as  being  respect  for  the  ends 
of  creation,  we  should  be  compelled  to  say  that  whatever 
interrupts  life  is  a  sin ;  and,  like  the  Brahmin,  we  must 
refrain  from  even  cutting  a  blade  of  grass  with  our  nails. 

him  beforehand  in  exercising  such  a  right.  But  would  nature,  or  even  Provi- 
dence, have  a  right  to  release  us  from  obligation  to  do  right  ?  It  would  then 
be  necessary  to  prove  that  the  animals  have  no  right  in  opposition  to  the 
use  which  we  make  of  them,  and  which  is  more  or  less  necessary  for  our- 
selves. 

1  A  great  writer  has  gone  so  far  as  to  forbid,  in  eloquent  and  almost  per- 
suasive words,  the  gathering  of  bouquets  :  "  You  cut  me  to  the  heart  when  you 
despoil  an  enamelled  field  to  make  a  bouquet  of  anemones  of  every  shade, 
which  will  perish  in  your  hands  in  an  instant.  No,  this  gathered  flower  has 
no  more  interest  for  me.  It  is  a  corpse,  which  has  lost  its  grace,  its  attitude, 
its  true  surroundings.  ...  If  you  love  it  for  its  own  sake,  you  will  feel  that 
it  is  the  ornament  of  the  soil,  and  that  it  is  in  its  true  glory  when  it  raises  its 
lovely  head  from  amidst  its  foliage,  or  when  it  bends  gracefully  over  the  turf. 
.  .  .  When  you  bring  it  to  me  broken,  crushed,  and  mutilated,  it  is  no  longer 
a  flower :  you  have  destroyed  the  plant.  .  .  .  (Doubtless)  study  is  sacred,  and 
nature  must  sacrifice  some  individuals  to  us  ;  but  that  is  only  one  reason  the 
more  why  we  should  not  afterwards  profane  her  by  useless  massacres."  — 
Letters  of  a  traveller  in  regard  to  Botany,  Revue  des  Deuz  Mondes,  June  1,  1868. 


228  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

But  this  would  be  carrying  out  the  principle  to  the  extreme 
point  of  .absurdity  and  impossibility.  Still,  we  may  say  in  a 
general  way,  that  such  a  destructive  tendency  as  that  of 
hordes  of  barbarians,  which,  if  left  uncontrolled,  would 
destroy  all  life  in  the  universe,  is  a  sort  of  sin  against  nature, 
and  is  not  a  matter  of  absolute  unimportance,  even  if  we 
leave  out  of  consideration  human  interests. 

If  we  ascend  from  the  beings  below  us  to  those  which  are 
above  us,  the  only  question  which  arises  is,  whether  we  have 
any  duties  toward  God.  For  while  there  may,  unquestion- 
ably, be  an  infinite  number  of  creatures  between  God  and 
man  —  and  there  is  nothing  absurd  or  impossible  in  the  idea  of 
the  existence  of  beings  superior  to  us  —  yet  we  do  not  know 
any  of  these  by  our  experience  ;  and,  if  revelation  commands 
us  to  believe  that  such  beings  exist,  the  duties  resulting 
from  that  belief  will  belong  to  what  moral  theology  calls 
the  positive  divine  law,  not  to  natural  law.  We  may  very 
well  believe  that  men  who  have  died  before  us  attain  after 
their  death  to  a  state  of  sanctity  superior  to  our  own,  and 
thereby  rise  higher  in  the  scale  of  being :  yet  they  do  not 
cease  to  be  men ;  and  therefore  our  duties  toward  the  dead, 
even  toward  saints,  come  under  the  head  of  our  duties  to 
our  fellow-creatures.  Thus,  as  I  said,  there  remains  only 
the  question  of  our  duties  toward  God. 

Of  course,  those  who  do  not  admit  the  existence  of  such  a 
being  are  justified  in  saying  that  we  have  no  duties  toward 
him ;  for  we  can  owe  no  duty  to  that  which  does  not  exist. 
The  question  is  open  only  to  those  who  admit  the  existence 
of  God,  and  who  understand  by  this  a  being  who  is  not 
merely  infinite,  but  is  also  perfect,  endowed  with  all  the 
attributes  of  Providence.  Such  a  being,  says  Kant,  has  only 
rights,  but  not  duties :  now,  duty  is  necessarily  reciprocal ; 
to  him  who  owes  us  nothing,  we  owe  nothing  in  return. 

But  how  can  it  be  maintained  that  God  has  only  rights, 
but  no  duties,  in  regard  to  men,  unless  we  accept  the  doc- 
trine of  Hobbes,  that  God  is  merely  a  power,  and  that  he  is 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  229 

A 

absolute  power  ?  In  this  case,  but  in  this  alone,  God  would 
have  only  rights,  if  we  can  give  that  name  to  what  would  be 
merely  the  unlimited  exercise  of  power.  If,  on  the  contrary, 
God  is  not  merely  power,  but  is  also  wisdom,  justice,  and 
goodness,  on  what  ground  can  it  be  affirmed  that  he  has  no 
duties  toward  his  creatures?  Unquestionably  he  does  not 
owe  them  being,  and  he  has  an  absolute  right  to  create,  or 
not  to  create ;  but,  when  once  the  creatures  have  been  pro- 
duced, he  owes  them,  if  not  gratuitous  happiness,  at  least  a 
just  reward  for  their  efforts:  and  it  would  be  entirely  con- 
trary to  the  idea  of  an  eternal,  necessary,  absolute  moral 
law,  for  God  to  permit  himself  to  do  all  sorts  of  things  to  his 
creatures.  His  divine  goodness  itself  seems  to  require  that 
evil  should  not  exist  for  them ;  and,  no  matter  what  reason 
may  be  given  for  it,  it  will  always  be  true,  that  gratuitous  evil 
would  be  unworthy  of  the  divine  nature,  and  that  to  main- 
tain such  a  doctrine  would  be  nearly  the  same  thing  as  to 
deny  the  very  existence  of  God.  Unquestionably  the  term 
duty  is  unsuitable  for  expressing  a  law  which  the  divine 
nature  follows  spontaneously,  without  any  constraint ;  since 
God  can  desire  only  what  is  good.  But  while  it  is  superflu- 
ous to  say  of  God,  that  he  owes  any  thing,  it  is  not  incorrect 
to  say  of  the  creature  that  something  is  due  to  him.  If  the 
word  duty  be  taken  in  its  narrowest  meaning,  that  is,  as  a 
moral  constraint  exerted  over  a  rebellious  will,  then,  in  that 
sense,  God  has  no  duty.  But,  if  we  understand  by  it  the 
necessary  relations  established  by  the  law  of  good,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  there  are  such  relations  between  the  divine  and  the 
human  will ;  and,  though  the  divine  will  spontaneously  con- 
forms to  this  law  instead  of  obeying  it  unwillingly,  we  can 
draw  from  this  difference  no  conclusion  as  to  the  reciprocal 
duties  ot  the  creature.  Since  the  creature  is,  hypothetically, 
the  object  of  divine  goodness  and  justice,  there  result  duties 
of  love,  of  gratitude,  and  of  respect;  for  I  cannot  see  that 
the  grandeur  of  the  benefactor  can  in  any  way  diminish  the 
duties  of  the  one  who  is  benefited. 


230  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  it  is  said  that  God  has  no  duties 
toward  his  creatures,  but  has  only  rights,  either  this  latter 
word  means  absolutely  nothing,  and  signifies  only  the  de- 
mands of  force,  which  in  Kant's  opinion  is  inadmissible,  or 
else  it  means  that  God  can  properly  require  of  his  creatures 
whatever  he  pleases.  Now,  if  this  is  so  (and  admitting  it 
would  be  going  back  to  the  theological  doctrine  of  the  divine 
decrees),  not  only  is  it  incorrect  to  say  that  man  has  no 
duties  toward  God,  but  it  is  even  necessary  to  declare,  that, 
in  relation  to  God,  he  has  nothing  but  duties,  that  every 
thing  is  a  duty  toward  him,  and  that  he  owes  to  God  what- 
ever may  be  required  of  him. 

It  is  also  objected,  that  one  can  have  no  duties  toward  a 
being  to  whom  one  can  do  neither  good  nor  harm.  Now, 
since  God  is  perfect,  and  is  supremely  happy,  we  can  add 
nothing  to  his  perfection  or  to  his  happiness,  neither  can  we 
take  either  from  him.  Hence  we  are  under  no  obligation 
toward  him.  But  we  must  first  settle  the  question  whether 
we  have  duties  only  toward  those  whom  we  can  benefit  or 
injure.  Thus,  for  instance,  we  have  duties  of  justice,  love, 
and  respect,  toward  the  dead,  though  we  can  neither  benefit 
nor  injure  them,  since  they  are  dead:  and  although  we  may 
have  reasons  for  thinking  that  they  still  live  in  another 
form,  yet  our  duties  toward  them  are  independent  of  that 
consideration ;  since  these  duties  would  still  remain,  even  if 
we  doubted  the  continued  existence  of  departed  spirits,  or 
their  being  connected  in  any  way  with  the  living.  These 
spirits  may  be  so  happy,  and  in  conditions  so  foreign  to  our 
life  here  below,  that  they  become  absolutely  indifferent,  at 
least  to  evil.  An  historian,  for  instance,  could  not  justify 
himself  for  calumniating  heroes  by  the  pretext,  that,  as  he  did 
not  believe  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  he  knew  perfectly 
well  that  he  could  not  injure  them.  Even  in  this  life  a  man 
may,  by  patient  gentleness,  raise  himself  above  all  injuries, 
and  become  absolutely  indifferent  to  them ;  but  that  will  not 
make  those  who  injure  him  innocent.    So,  too,  a  man  may  be 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  231 

so  modest  that  lie  does  not  feel  the  need  of  admiration,  which 
does  not  alter  the  fact  that  it  is  a  duty  of  justice  to  render 
him  what  is  due.  The  inner  feelings  which  we  entertain 
toward  other  men,  and  which  are  not  manifested  by  any  act, 
can  neither  benefit  nor  injure  their  object.  Yet  no  one 
denies  that  we  have  duties  of  this  kind.  Thus  we  see  that 
duty  does  not  depend  on  the  good  or  evil  which  may  be 
accomplished  without,  but  on  the  order  of  things,  which 
requires  that  each  being  should  be  loved  and  respected  ac- 
cording to  his  deserts.  Now,  from  this  point  of  view,  there 
is  no  doubt  that  God,  who  is  sovereign  perfection,  and  the 
principle  of  all  order  and  all  justice,  is  the  legitimate  object 
of  the  highest  respect  and  of  the  greatest  love. 

Our  duties  toward  God  are,  then,  clear,  if  we  accept  the 
doctrine  of  a  divine  personality.  Now,  this  doctrine  is 
admitted  hypothetically  when  you  say,  with  Kant,  that  God 
has  rights  and  no  duties  ;  for  a  purely  impersonal  being  could 
have  neither  rights  nor  duties,  and  it  would  be  equally  in- 
correct to  predicate  the  first  or  the  last  of  him.  But,  in  pro- 
portion as  we  recede  from  this  doctrine,  we  shall  see  that  our 
obligations  toward  God  seem  to  grow  less  and  less.  It  is  not 
certain  that  we  should  not  owe  some  supreme  duty  toward 
God,  even  regarding  him  as  the  unique  and  immanent  sub- 
stance of  all  things.  We  see  Spinoza  even  vigorously  oppos- 
ing the  doctrine  of  divine  personality,  and  yet  making  the 
love  of  God  the  ultimate  principle  of  his  morality ;  and  this 
does  not  seem  to  be  an  actual  contradiction.  We  see  that 
the  Stoics  and  the  Alexandrians,  notwithstanding  their  pan- 
theism, introduced  into  their  system  the  duties  of  piety ;  and 
we  do  not  need  to  inquire  what  sense  they  gave  to  this  word, 
for  we  know  that  every  religion  regards  as  an  impiety  every 
thing  outside  of  its  own  forms  of  worship.  If,  under  one 
form  or  another,  an  order  of  virtues  or  duties  is  admitted 
which  have  for  their  object  that  which  is  above  man,  this  is 
enough  to  make  a  principle  of  religion  and  of  piety. 

From  our  stand-point,  religion  is  not  the  basis  of  morality ; 


232  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

but  it  is  a  part,  and  the  nobler  part,  of  a  moral  life.  In  my 
view,  morality  does  not  consist  merely  in  obedience  or  con- 
formity to  an  abstract  law.  This  law  itself  has  significance 
only  so  far  as  it  commands  us  to  give  to  our  nature  all  the 
development  of  which  it  is  capable ;  that  is  to  say,  to  live  in 
the  most  complete,  the  fullest,  and  the  noblest,  way.  Now, 
the  communion  of  the  soul  with  God  —  that  is,  with  the 
Eternal,  the  Unchangeable,  the  Perfect  —  is  the  noblest 
thing  in  man;  it  is  the  centre  of  our  whole  spiritual  life; 
from  it  every  thing  flows  out,  and  to  it  every  thing  returns. 
It  is  in  this  sense  that  the  religious  life,  under  one  form  or 
another,  is  one  of  the  necessary  elements,  and  even  the 
noblest  one,  of  moral  life. 

I  have  shown,  with  sufficient  clearness,  that  the  circle  of 
moral  life  is  not,  in  regard  to  its  objects,  confined  within  the 
bounds  of  humanity,  but  that  it  extends  above  and  below. 
It  remains  to  be  seen  what  it  includes  within  humanity  it- 
self. In  this  field  no  one  denies  our  duties  toward  others, 
but  the  duties  of  man  toward  himself  have  been  denied. 

If  there  could  be  any  doubt  as  to  the  beauty  of  the  moral 
teaching  of  Kant  and  Fichte  (not  taking  into  account  the 
purely  speculative  objections  which  I  have  made  to  their 
philosophy),  it  would  be  enough  for  its  vindication  to  recall 
the  great  importance  given  by  science  since  their  time  to  the 
doctrine  of  our  duties  toward  ourselves.  Preceding  moral- 
ists, excepting  the  Stoics,  had  never  clearly  distinguished  the 
duties  of  man  toward  himself  from  self-interest,  properly  so 
called.  Kant  may  be  said  to  be  the  first  moralist  who  brought 
out  clearly  the  principle  that  man  owes  to  himself  what  he 
owes  to  other  men,  —  that  is,  respect ; 1  that  he  should  not 
assail  the  dignity  of  human  nature  in  himself  any  more  than 

1  But,  it  will  be  said,  then  he  owes  himself  happiness,  since  he  owes  this 
to  other  men?  Undoubtedly;  and  Kant  was  mistaken  when  he  objected  to 
admitting  this  consequence.  Only,  what  he  owes  to  himself  is  true  happiness, 
which  is  not  that  of  the  Utilitarians.  It  is  in  the  same  sense  that  he  owes 
happiness  to  other  men  ;  for  we  do  not  owe  them  pleasures,  but  only  what  is 
useful  for  preserving  or  developing  in  them  human  nature. 


~  OF    THF.  'r 


ii  U  N I V  E  SsS  I T  Y 


in  other  men.    Then  there  re-appeared  in  mora 


TS** 


maxims  of  a  noble  pride  and  spiritual  dignity  which  had  been 
banished  from  it  under  the  name  of  false  pride,  and  had 
been  replaced  by  the  principles  of  that  doubtful  and  equivo- 
cal virtue  which  is  called  humility.  Unquestionably  Kant's 
philosophy,  like  that  of  the  Stoics,  recognized  the  duty  of 
modesty,  of  simplicity,  of  a  just  estimate  of  one's  self;  but 
to  these  it  added  the  principles  of  nobility  of  soul,  wrong- 
fully confounded,  by  a  vulgar  accusation,  with  false  pride. 
Who  will  blame  Kant  for  having  restored  to  moral  science 
these  beautiful  maxims:  "Be  not  slaves  to  men.  Do  not 
permit  your  rights  to  be  trampled  under  foot  with  impunity. 
Receive  no  favors  which  you  can  do  without.  Be  neither  a 
parasite,  a  flatterer,  nor  a  beggar.  If  one  makes  himself 
a  worm,  can  he  complain  when  he  is  crushed?"  and  others 
still.  Undoubtedly  Christian  morality,  when  properly  under- 
stood, contains  nothing  which  is  directly  opposed  to  these 
principles.1  Religious  duty  has  sometimes  exalted  in  a  sub- 
lime manner  the  feeling  of  human  dignity,  but  in  daily 
practice  Christianity  has  rather  weakened  than  fortified  this 
virtue.  Undoubtedly,  too,  so  far  as  concerns  the  purity 
which  a  man  owes  to  himself,  and  which  is  a  part  of  the 
duty  of  respecting  himself,  Christian  morality  requires  too 
much  rather  than  too  little.2  But  as  to  those  secular  virtues 
which  are  called  honor,  independence,  a  just  pride,  the  ener- 
getic defence  of  one's  rights,  —  all  of  this  kind  of  virtues  are 

1  We  cannot,  as  M.  de  Rernusat  justly  remarked,  say  that  Christianity  holds 
the  human  soul  in  low  esteem,  since  it  judged  it  worthy  of  heing  redeemed  by 
the  blood  of  Christ.  Nevertheless,  some  of  its  maxims  tend  to  weaken  our 
personal  virtues.  M.  de  Tocqueville  also  observed,  with  surprise,  that  Chris- 
tianity has  given  no  encouragement  to  civic  virtues.  Now,  though  public 
morals  are  here  concerned,  yet  it  was  evidently  the  fear  that  the  human  per- 
sonality would  exalt  itself  too  much  which  led  Christianity  to  discourage 
political  energy:  hence  it  is  because  it  did  not  recognize  in  their  entirety  the 
duties  of  man  toward  himself,  that  it  also  laid  little  stress  on  the  duties  of  the 
public  man. 

2  For  example,  it  is  asking  too  much  to  require  us  to  regard  the  state  of 
celibacy  or  virginity  as  a  more  perfect  state  than  that  of  marriage. 


234  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

generally  regarded  by  Christian  moralists  as  splendid  vices, 
inconsistent  with  the  low  estate  of  a  fallen  creature. 

In  whatever  way  this  controversy  between  the  Stoical  and 
the  Christian  spirit  may  be  settled,  one  thing  is  incontesta- 
ble from  any  stand-point:  and  that  is,  that  man  does  not 
belong  to  himself  as  does  a  thing  to  its  master ;  that  there  is 
something  within  him  which  is  not  himself,  and  of  which  he 
cannot  dispose  as  if  it  were  his  property;  and  this  is  hu- 
manity, the  human  essence,  man  in  himself.  If  this  is  true, 
if  a  man  has  duties  toward  himself,  then,  even  were  he  com- 
pelled to  live  in  a  desert  island,  he  would  not  be  released 
from  all  obligations. 

I  admit,  then,  the  generally  accepted  division  of  duties 
into  four  classes.  But,  having  once  accepted  this  classifica- 
tion, a  new  question  arises.  Are  these  four  classes  of  duties 
irreducible,  do  they  correspond  to  four  kinds  of  essentially 
distinct  relations,  or  may  they  not  be  resolved,  the  one  into 
the  other,  according  to  the  degree  of  importance  belonging 
to  these  duties  ?  For  instance,  may  it  not  be  claimed  that 
duties  toward  animals  may  be  resolved  into  the  duties  of 
man  toward  himself  (for  man  owes  it  to  himself  not  to  be 
cruel) ;  that  duties  toward  ourselves  may  be  resolved  into 
duties  toward  other  men  (for  we  ought  to  respect,  and  to 
develop  within  ourselves,  the  faculties  which  are  useful 
to  our  fellow-creatures)  ;  and,  finally,  that  our  duties  toward 
other  men  may  be  resolved  into  our  duties  toward  God  (for 
it  is  God  himself,  our  common  father,  whom  we  should  love 
and  respect  in  all)?  Accepting  this  hypothesis,  religious 
morality  would  absorb  social  morality,  which  would,  in  its 
turn,  absorb  that  of  the  individual.  On  the  other  hand, 
could  we  not  reverse  the  process,  resolving  religious,  and 
even  sr  cial,  morality  into  individual  morality  ? 

Let  us  first  set  aside,  as  of  too  little  importance  for  a  pro- 
tracted discussion,  the  question  of  our  duties  toward  animals, 
and  while  admitting  the  existence  of  these  duties,  as  we 
have  shown,  let  us  grant  that  this  part  of  morals  belongs 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  235 

either  to  personal  morality  (man  owes  it  to  himself  not  to  be 
cruel),  or  to  social  morality  (each  of  us  owes  it  to  other  men 
that  we  should  not  needlessly  destroy  what  may  be  useful  to 
society  at  large),  or  to  religious  morality  (man  should  not 
needlessly  destroy  the  work  of  the  Creator).  Let  us  reduce 
the  question  to  these  three  terms  —  the  individual,  society, 
and  God. 

The  first  theory  which  we  encounter  is  that  which  classes 
all  our  duties  as  duties  toward  God.  It  is  the  general  ten- 
dency of  the  Christian  priesthood  (setting  all  theories  aside) 
to  regard  all  duties  as  belonging  to  religion :  we  should  do 
our  duty  in  general  because  it  is  the  will  of  God;  should 
do  good  to  other  men  from  love  to  God ;  should  aid  the  poor 
as  being  members  of  Christ's  body :  in  a  word,  the  tendency 
of  religious  morality  is  to  regard  as  one  sentiment  both  human 
and  divine  charity. 

Popular  sentiment  has  justly  apprehended  the  exaggera- 
tion and  practical  insufficiency  of  the  maxim  which  classes 
social  duties  as  belonging  to  religion,  saying  ironically,  that 
a  certain  thing  is  done  for  the  love  of  God:  it  is  well  known, 
that,  in  common  usage,  this  expression  generally  indicates  a 
melancholy  and  grudging  act,  which  confines  itself  to  what 
is  strictly  necessary,  and  reduces  the  spirit  of  self-sacri- 
fice to  its  minimum.  To  give  alms  for  the  love  of  God  is  not 
to  give :  to  do  one's  duty  for  the  love  of  God  is  not  to  do  it. 
Doubtless  this  is  an  abuse,  which  does  not  properly  spring 
from  the  principle ;  and,  though  a  hypocritical  piety  weakens 
virtue,  we  should  not  attribute  the  same  consequences  to 
true  devotion.  Still,  this  irreverent  criticism  seems  to  indi- 
cate at  least  the  existence  of  a  tendency  which  is  proved  by 
experience ;  and  it  is  certain  that  the  habit  of  referring  every 
thing  to  God  may  lead  the  soul  away  from  its  legitimate 
affection  for  men,  render  it  indifferent  to  them,  and  even 
lead  some  over-enthusiastic  souls  to  regard  those  affections 
as  crimes,  as  robberies  of  that  which  is  due  to  God.  Thus 
Pascal  came  to  regard  marriage  as  a  deicide,  and,  to  avoid 


236  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

weak  compliances,  treated  his  sister  with  a  pious  severity. 
Unquestionably  all  this  is  madness,  but  this  folly  is  the  logi- 
cal result  of  the  principle ;  for,  if  we  should  love  men  only 
from  love  to  God,  every  purely  human  and  secular  affection 
is  a  robbery  of  God  ;  and,  to  destroy  within  us  these  profane 
and  carnal  affections,  we  must  use  violent  means,  since 
nature  and  the  flesh  are  always  stronger  than  our  reso- 
lutions. 

Thus  the  doctrine  of  the  mystics,  which  forbids  attach- 
ment to  creatures,  and  reduces  every  thing  to  the  love  of 
God,  leads  logically  to  a  sort  of  pious  egotism,  and  even  to 
cruelty ;  and  these  extravagant  consequences  are  to  be  feared 
in  proportion  as  the  principle  is  exaggerated.  Unquestion- 
ably, it  is  very  true  and  very  beautiful  to  say  with  the  Chris- 
tians, that  the  souls  of  our  fellow-creatures  are  the  temples 
of  God;  with  the  Stoics,  that  there  is  a  God  within  man. 
Thus  we  exalt  human  nature :  thus,  too,  we  lift  up  the  weak 
and  the  lowly,  the  poor  and  the  miserable,  and  teach  the 
great  ones  of  the  earth  that  they  are  all  of  the  same  stock. 
And  of  what  stock?  One  that  is  divine.  These  noble 
words  have  consoled  many  suffering  souls,  and  humbled 
many  that  were  fierce  and  insolent.  But  while  it  is  correct 
to  say,  not  only  with  the  Christians  and  the  Stoics,  but  also 
with  the  Platonists,  that  all  creatures  derive  their  essence 
and  their  being  from  God  alone,  that  whatever  true  and  real 
thing  there  is  in  them  is  due  to  their  participation  in  God, 
yet  it  must  also  be  admitted  that  the  creature  has  its  own 
being,  its  own  activity,  a  personality  which  cannot  be  con- 
founded with  that  of  the  Creator,  and  that  for  this  reason  it 
is  itself  an  object  for  love  and  respect ;  that  we  should 
neither  lose  ourselves  in  the  bosom  of  divinity  in  a  sort  of 
mental  suicide,  which  is  called  ecstasy,  nor  destroy  within 
ourselves,  in  a  stern  and  ascetic  devotion,  all  human  affec- 
tions. 

Neither  can  I  agree  any  better  with  the  second  theory, 
which  makes  our  duties  to  ourselves  subordinate  to  our 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  237 

duties  to  others.  But  this  doctrine  is  held  in  two  forms. 
Either  the  existence  of  any  duties  toward  one's  self  is 
utterly  denied,  and  duties  of  that  kind  are  explained  as 
being  only  special  forms  of  our  duty  to  others,  which  view 
I  have  just  refuted;1  or  else  the  existence  of  such  duties 
is  admitted,  but  they  are  made  subordinate  to  others,  being 
regarded  as  relative^  while  our  duties  toward  others  are 
called  absolute.2 

It  is  surprising  that  Fichte,  the  philosopher  of  liberty,  of 
personality,  he  who  declared  the  basis  of  morality  to  be  the 
obligation  of  being  one's  self  (die  Selbststdndigkeit^  die  Per- 
sonlichkeit),  could  yet  consider  our  duties  toward  ourselves 
as  conditional,  and  subordinate  to  our  duties  toward  others. 
Fichte's  reason  is  of  very  nearly  the  same  kind  with  that 
which  makes  Malebranche  sacrifice  all  our  duties  to  those  of 
religion.  With  the  latter,  God  is  the  universal,  the  sole  effi- 
cient cause,  therefore  the  only  true  and  substantial  principle, 
so  that  whatever  there  is  in  the  creatures  that  is  real,  solid, 
and  estimable  comes  from  God  only ;  similarly,  with  Fichte 
all  the  substantial  reality  of  the  individual  comes  to  him 
from  humanity  in  general,  from  his  participation  in  the 
human  essence  abstractly  considered.  That  which  he  calls 
the  Ego  is  not  the  individual  Ego,  circumscribed  and  deter- 
mined by  time  and  space.  It  is  the  human  Ego  —  the  con- 
science, the  personality ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  what  is  common 
to  all  men  and  identical  in  all.  Thus  it  is  to  humanity  in 
general,  not  to  my  own  individuality,  that  I  owe  something. 
The  duties  of  the  individual  toward  himself  are  therefore 
only  conditional  and  relative  to  the  absolute  duty  which  has 
for  its  object  humanity  in  general. 

But  it  is  plain,  that,  in  speaking  of  duties  toward  one's  self, 

i  See  p.  232. 

2  This  distinction  is  made  by  Fichte  in  his  philosophy.  He  considers  duties 
toward  one's  self  as  mediate,  conditional  duties  —  mittelbare,  bedingte  Pflichten 
—  and  duties  toward  others  as  immediate  and  unconditional — unmittelbare, 
unbedingte  Pflichten.  —  System  der  Sittenlehre,  pp.  254-259,  Fichte's  Werke, 
Bonn,  1834. 


238  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

no  one  means  to  speak  of  duties  toward  the  individual  re- 
garded as  such.  We  do  not  mean  the  duties  of  Peter  toward 
Peter  regarded  as  Peter,  but  toward  the  individual  regarded 
as  a  man,  so  far  as  he  contains  and  expresses  humanity  in 
general.  Undoubtedly  we  may  admit  that  there  are  certain 
duties  toward  the  individual,  properly  so  called:  the  duties 
of  Cato  are  not  the  same  as  those  of  Cicero.  From  this  point 
of  view  individual  duties  differ,1  while  personal  duties  are 
the  same  with  every  one.  Every  one  ought  to  be  temperate, 
brave,  prudent,  etc. :  and  what  we  call  duties  toward  our- 
selves are  our  duties  toward  that  part  of  ourselves  which 
is  not  individual,  and  which  is  the  cause  of  our  dignity  and 
our  personality;  that  is,  our  reason,  liberty  and  self-con- 
sciousness. It  does  not  follow  from  this  that  our  duties 
toward  ourselves  may  be  classed  as  duties  toward  other 
men:  for  other  men,  regarded  as  individuals,  are  no  more 
the  direct  objects  of  duty  than  we  ourselves ;  they  are  so 
only  in  so  far  as  they  are  men,  and  from  the  same  stand- 
point, and  for  the  same  reasons,  that  we  ourselves  are  such 
objects.  Hence  we  must  first  be  an  object  of  duty  to  our- 
selves before  we  can  comprehend  that  others  are  equally  so. 
Humanity  considered  as  a  body,  must  be  distinguished  from 
humanity  considered  as  an  idea.  Entire  humanity,  consid- 
ered as  an  idea,  exists  within  each  one  of  us :  it  is  what  con- 
stitutes human  personality.  I  am  a  man  without  any  refer- 
ence to  my  relations  to  the  body  of  humanity.  If  I  consider 
myself  afterwards  as  a  part  of  that  body,  in  relation  to  the 
other  members  who  form  it  together  with  me,  then  new 
duties  result;  but  these  do  not  take  supremacy  over  the 
others,  nor  absorb  them ;  they  are  as  sacred  as  the  others, 
but  not  more  so.     It  could  only  be  from  the  stand-point  of 


1  In  regard  to  this,  Cicero  said  that  it  was  the  duty  of  Cato  to  kill  himself, 
hat  that  it  would  not  have  "been  the  duty  of  any  other  man.  This  may,  per- 
haps, be  questionable;  hut  it  is  certain  that  individuality  does  count  for  some- 
thing in  morality.    Schleiermacher,  in  his  Ethics,  has  strongly  advocated  thia 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  239 

a  sort  of  humanitarian  pantheism  that  one  could  sacrifice 
personal  to  social  duties,  just  as  it  is  only  from  the  stand- 
point of  a  mystical  pantheism  that  one  can  sacrifice  both 
to  religious  duties. 

If  it  were  absolutely  necessary  to  reduce  all  classes  of 
duties  to  one  only,  the  only  rational  reduction  would  be  that 
which  classes  all  as  duties  toward  one's  self.  We  have 
already  seen  that  the  fundamental  principle  of  morals  is  to 
exalt  the  human  personality  within  us  to  the  highest  point 
of  excellence  of  which  it  is  capable.  We  have  in  reality  no 
other  duty  to  perform  than  that  of  fulfilling  the  ideal  of 
humanity  as  completely  as  possible  within  ourselves.  From 
this  stand-point  all  duties,  even  the  most  exalted,  are  so  only 
because  they  enter  into  the  ideal  of  the  perfect  man,  toward 
which  all  our  actions  should  tend.  Thus,  as  we  have  already 
shown,  if  religious  or  social  virtue  did  not  enter  into  the 
ideal  of  our  own  good  (not  of  our  good  as  individuals,  but 
of  our  good  as  men),  these  virtues,  being  absolutely  foreign 
to  us,  and  nowhere  coming  into  contact  with  us,  could  not 
be  obligatory  upon  us ;  for  I  can  be  under  no  obligation  to 
that  which  does  not  concern  me.  But,  since  the  ideas  of  reli- 
gion and  of  society  form  an  essential  part  of  human  nature, 
I  cannot  be  entirely  a  man  —  that  is,  I  cannot  fulfil  my  whole 
destiny  —  nor  can  I  accomplish  all  the  good  of  which  I  am 
capable,  if  I  neglect  the  actions  which  accompany  those  two 
sentiments.  Hence  all  my  duties  may  be  ultimately  resolved 
into  that  of  perfecting  myself. 

Yet  it  would  show  a  very  defective  comprehension  of  this 
principle,  and  would  lead  us  into  a  sort  of  individualistic 
egotism  as  erroneous  as  the  mysticism  of  Malebranche  and 
the  socialism  of  Fichte,  if  we  were  to  confound  absolutely 
these  three  classes  of  duties,  and  resolve  the  two  latter 
into  the  first.  The  truth  is,  that  the  principle  which  I  have 
already  enunciated  includes  all  these,  while  they,  neverthe- 
less, remain  distinct  and  irreducible. 

In  fact,  as  I  have  shown  in  the  first  part  of  this  work,  it 


240  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

would  be  acting  exactly  contrary  to  the  idea  of  our  duties 
toward  humanity,  were  we  to  consider  other  men  merely  as 
means  for  producing  our  own  perfection,  just  as  mystics  end 
by  seeing  in  other  men  merely  their  own  means  of  salvation ; 
so  that  they  would  almost  be  displeased  if  there  were  no 
more  sufferers  on  the  earth,  since  then  they  would  have  no 
way  in  which  to  exercise  charity.  "While  charity,  having 
for  its  end  only  the  interests  of  humanity,  tends  essentially 
to  the  destruction  of  evil,  false  mysticism  and  false  piety 
would  be  tempted  to  make  it  eternal  for  the  sake  of  charity. 
Individualism,  incorrectly  understood,  might  lead  to  similar 
results ;  for,  if  we  should  see  in  our  relations  to  men  only  a 
means  of  promoting  our  own  moral  growth,  we  might  desire 
evil  solely  that  we  might  have  the  glory  and  merit  of  sacri- 
ficing ourselves  (as  a  general  desires  war,  so  that  he  may  fall 
with  glory).  Moreover,  just  as  the  false  devotee  loves  men 
only  for  the  love  of  God,  which  is,  in  one  sense,  equivalent 
to  not  loving  them  at  all,  so  the  individualist  would  love 
men  only  for  the  sake  of  giving  himself  the  satisfaction  of 
loving  them.  For  instance,  has  it  not  often  happened  in 
politics,  that  people  have  adopted  the  most  humanitarian 
doctrines  simply  that  they  might  enjoy  egotistically  the  feel- 
ing that  they  had  ideas  more  beautiful  and  noble  than  those 
of  their  adversaries  ?  Finally,  if  one  does  good  for  the  sake 
of  acquiring  merit,  does  he  not  fall  into  the  sin  of  pride,  for 
which  the  Stoics  have  been  so  frequently  blamed?  Thus 
apprehended,  all  virtues  would  indeed  be  what  St.  Augustine 
called  them,  splendid  vices,  vitia  splendida.  But  we  have 
seen  that  the  principle  of  personal  excellence  does  not  logi- 
cally involve  these  results,  since  devotion  to  other  men  with- 
out thought  of  one's  self  forms  part  of  the  ideal  of  human 
excellence.  The  true  idea  of  the  perfect  man  implies  that 
we  should  love  and  respect  men  for  their  sakes,  not  for  our 
own.  We  ought  even,  in  certain  cases,  to  sacrifice  our  own 
moral  merit  to  the  good  of  others.  For  example,  if  we  can 
be  more  useful  to  a  man  by  making  him  a  loan  than  by 


DIVISION  OF  DUTIES.  241 

making  him  a  gift,  we  ought  to  prefer  loaning  to  giving, 
although  the  gift,  since  it  involves  more  sacrifice  of  our  own 
interests,  is  for  that  very  reason  more  meritorious.  We  ought 
to  love  our  children  and  our  friends  because  they  are  our 
children  and  our  friends,  not  because  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  love 
them. 

In  a  word,  it  is  quite  true  that  the  basis  of  all  our  duties 
is  the  principle  of  personal  excellence ;  and,  in  a  general  way, 
we  may  say  that  all  duties  may  be  traced  back  to  the  duties 
of  the  person  toward  himself.  But,  at  the  same  time,  the 
excellence  of  human  nature  is  determined  by  the  necessary 
relations  in  which  that  nature  is  placed,  and  by  the  different 
elements  of  the  spiritual  life  of  man.  Now,  man  sustains 
three  distinct  and  irreducible  relations  —  to  himself,  even 
were  there  no  other  individual  in  the  world;  to  other  men; 
and  to  God.  Hence  originate  three  elements  in  the  spiritual 
life  of  man  —  the  personal,  the  social,  and  the  religious,  life. 
In  order  that  human  perfection  may  be  complete,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  these  three  modes  of  life  should  have  complete 
development,  without  being  sacrificed  one  to  another.  Thus 
within  the  unity  of  the  principle  exists  the  triple  division 
which  is  generally  accepted. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES. 

~TTT~E  now  come  to  one  of  the  most  difficult  problems  in 
*  *  morals,  and  it  is  probably  on  account  of  this  difficulty 
that  most  moralists  have  neglected  it.  If  you  open  all  the 
great  treatises  on  morals,  both  ancient  and  modern,  you  will 
hardly  find  anywhere  a  discussion  of  the  problem  of  which 
I  speak.1  Philosophers  have  left  this  question  to  the  theolo- 
gians. These  have  made  of  it  a  special  science  —  that  of 
cases  of  conscience,  or  casuistry  —  which  has  fallen  into  great 
discredit  among  worldly  people  (always  very  critical  of  those 
who  preach  to  them),  on  account  of  the  reputation  for  laxity 
given  to  those  who  have  devoted  themselves  to  this  science. 
It  was,  indeed,  natural,  that  in  examining  with  such  sub- 
tlety, and  in  such  an  abstract  way,  arbitrary  and  perplexing 
hypotheses,  the  moral  sense  should  sometimes  become  blunted, 
and  should  grow  a  little  too  accommodating.  It  is  true,  also, 
that  the  casuists  discussed  too  fully  (much  more  than  was  at 
all  necessary)  certain  immodest  topics,  which  refined  morals 
do  not  even  mention.2     Hence  casuistry  fell  into  a  discredit, 

1  I  must  except,  among  the  ancients,  Cicero,  in  his  Be  Officiis,  B.  iii.  The 
Stoics  paid  much  attention  to  casuistry.  Among  the  moderns,  Wolf,  in  his 
Philosophia  Practica  Universalis,  §§  210,  211,  endeavored  to  give  some  rules 
for  cases  in  which  there  is  collision  between  duties  ;  hut  they  are  very  unsatis- 
factory.   For  instance,  the  following  : 

Article  1,  c.  2,  §  210.  Si  lex  prceceptiva  et  prohibitiva  colliduntur,  prohibitiva 
vincit.  §  2.  Si  lex  prceceptiva  et  prohibitiva  cum  permissiva  colliduntur,  permis- 
siva  cedit,  etc. 

2  The  argument  drawn  from  the  necessities  of  the  confessional  is  very 
weak,  for  it  is  utterly  useless  for  the  confessor  to  be  instructed  beforehand  as 
to  all  the  disgraceful  combinations  which  the  sensual  appetites  can  invent; 

242 


CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES.  243 

justified  to  a  certain  extent  by  the  abuse  which  had  been 
made  of  it,  but  which  is,  nevertheless,  inconvenient  on  some 
accounts,  as  it  removes  from  practical  morals  all  difficulties, 
leaving  only  such  things  as  are  clear,  and  hardly  require  dis- 
cussion. Kant,  however,  who,  with  his  rare  insight,  never 
disregarded  any  useful  idea,  introduced  into  his  Metaphysics 
of  Ethics  some  questions  in  casuistry ;  but  he  merely  pre- 
sented them  as  problems,  without  giving  any  rules  for  their 
solution. 

An  eminent  moralist1  has  said  that  moral  science  has 
nothing  to  do  with  casuistry,  and  tjiat  the  conscience  must 
decide  in  each  special  case.  But,  if  we  were  to  apply  this 
rule  strictly,  we  should  condemn,  not  merely  casuistry,  but 
the  whole  science  of  practical  morals ;  for  every  question  of 
morality  is  ultimately  a  case  of  conscience.  The  discussion 
of  suicide,  of  duelling,  of  homicide  for  self-defence  —  all  these, 
and  a  thousand  other  questions,  are  questions  in  casuistry. 
Undoubtedly  it  is  the  conscience  which  must  be  the  ultimate 
judge.  At  the  moment  of  the  act,  there  is  rarely  time  in 
which  to  appeal  to  casuistry ;  yet  even  at  this  last  moment 
the  conscience  is  frequently  undecided,  and  is  forced  to  con- 
sider the  pros  and  cons  as  a  casuist  would  do.2  But,  in  order 
that  it  may  decide  with  clearness  and  authority,  should  it 
not  have  been  previously  enlightened,  and  prepared  to  judge, 
by  a  general  and  theoretical  discussion,  and  by  a  critical 
comparison  between  different  duties?  Imagine  yourself  in 
India,  where  you  encounter  that  barbarous  prejudice  which 
forces  women  to  die  on  the  funeral  pyres  of  their  husbands. 
Would  you  think  it  enough  to  appeal  to  the  consciences  of 
the  people?  Conscience  here  demands  obedience  to  a  pre- 
judice.    You  would  be   obliged  to   combat  the  prejudice 

and  he  must  be  credited  with  a  very  poor  sort  of  conscience  if  it  is  thought, 
that,  when  one  of  these  cases  comes  before  him,  he  will  not  be  able  to  judge 
for  himself  what  degree  of  immorality  it  implies. 

1  J.  Simon,  Le  Devoir. 

2  Victor  Hugo  has,  in  Les  Mistrabhs,  described  with  great  vigor  and  insight 
an  interesting  case  of  conscience.    (See  the  chapter,  A  Tempest  in  a  Brain.) 


244  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

itself ;  but  with  what  weapons  ?  By  reasoning ;  that  is  to 
say,  by  a  casuistic  discussion.  The  whole  moral  progress 
of  society  has  been  merely  the  progressive  solutions  of  dif- 
ferent cases  of  conscience,  brought  about  little  by  little  by 
the  progress  of  reason  and  the  development  of  human  rela- 
tions. This  is  true  of  the  abolition  of  slavery,  of  human 
sacrifices,  of  the  auto-da-f6,  of  the  right  of  primogeniture,  etc. 
What  are  we  discussing  to-day  ?  The  right  of  inflicting  the 
death-penalty,  divorce,  compulsory  education,  the  general 
obligation  to  military  duty,  the  right  of  insurrection,  etc. 
Each  of  these  is  a  case  of  conscience. 

Unquestionably  there  is  one  side  of  theological  casuistry 
which  we  have  no  occasion  whatever  to  consider  here; 
because  it  is  a  case  of  practical  medicine,  or,  rather,  of  a 
code.  It  is  the  code  of  the  confessor,  who,  since  it  is  his 
duty  to  absolve  or  to  condemn,  must  necessarily  have  a 
balance  in  which  to  weigh  with  accuracy  the  guilt  of  the 
guilty.  Hence  comes  a  complete  theory  as  to  aggravating  or 
extenuating  circumstances,  which  has  reference  rather  to  the 
responsibility  of  the  agent  than  to  the  nature  of  his  obliga- 
tions. Legal  tribunals,  as  well  as  those  of  the  conscience, 
recognize  that  the  agent  may  be  more  or  less  guilty  accord- 
ing to  circumstances.  But  this  is  a  very  different  question 
from  that  of  conflicting  duties.  However  severe  a  principle 
may  be,  yet,  so  long  as  it  is  combated  only  by  personal 
interests  or  by  natural  inclinations,  we  may  always  say, 
Dura  lex,  sed  lex.  The  judge  may,  if  he  thinks  proper, 
compassionate  the  weakness  of  nature;  but  the  moralist  is 
forbidden  to  sacrifice  the  law  to  any  such  considerations. 
Strictly  speaking,  these  are  not  cases  of  conscience.  The 
real  difficulty  is,  to  decide  a  priori  what  should  be  done  in 
view  of  two  conflicting  duties ;  which  should  be  sacrificed 
when  both  cannot  be  fulfilled.  For  this  we  need  a  rule 
which  no  moralist  supplies.  The  novelty  and  difficulty  of 
the  question  must  be  my  apology  for  the  meagreness  of  what 
I  offer.  I  shall  merely  indicate  what  may  be  afterwards 
perfected  by  others. 


CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES.  245 

Let  us  first  establish  two  principles  which  will  amply 
suffice  for  the  solution  of  a  great  many  cases. 

First;  Among  duties  of  the  same  class,  we  may  take  for  a 
rule  that  the  relative  importance  of  the  duties  depends  upon 
the  importance  of  their  objects,  and  in  case  of  conflict  the 
best  object  should  be  chosen. 

Second;  As  between  different  classes  of  duties  (other 
things  being  equal),  the  importance  of  the  duty  depends 
on  the  extent  of  the  group  to  which  it  applies.  Hence 
comes  that  saying  of  Fenelon's ;  "  I  owe  more  to  humanity 
than  to  my  country,  to  my  country  than  to  my  family,  to  my 
family  than  to  my  friends,  to  my  friends  than  to  myself." 

Let  us  first  inquire  into  the  application  of  these  two 
principles. 

First  Rule.  —  We  have  seen  that  every  human  action  has 
the  effect  of  augmenting  or  of  diminishing  the  sum  of 
activity,  or  of  being,  of  one  or  of  several  creatures  (for 
instance,  of  myself).  Whatever  augments  my  being  is  a 
good.  Whatever  diminishes  it  is  an  evil.  But  the  different 
goods  (or  augmentations  of  being)  do  not  always  have  the 
same  importance  or  the  same  excellence,  as  we  have  already 
seen.  For  instance,  if  I  procure  for  a  child  a  slight  pleas- 
ure which  lasts  a  moment,  this  minimum  good  (the  reality 
of  which  cannot  be  denied)  is  very  far  from  equalling  the 
good  which  I  do  him  when  I  enlighten  his  mind  or  strengthen 
his  will.  Thus,  in  proportion  as  I  advance  in  self-knowledge, 
or  in  the  comprehension  of  human  nature,  T  can  make  a 
more  and  more  exact  estimate  of  the  goods  which  are  pos- 
sible for  it,  and  can  establish  a  comparative  scale  for  them 
all.  If  I  can  procure  all  these  different  goods  for  myself 
at  the  same  time,  all  is  right :  in  that  case  there  will  be  no 
conflict.  But  too  often  it  happens  that  I  cannot  procure 
one  without  sacrificing  others  for  it :  then  begins  the  conflict, 
and  the  application  of  the  rule  which  I  have  given. 

For  example,  there  is  no  doubt  that  life  is  a  good.  It  is 
so  in  the  first  place  for  its  own  sake,  for  the  life  of  a  man 


246  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

is  far  superior  to  that  of  the  brute.  It  is  so  also  as  the  con- 
dition of  personality  and  morality.1  Thus  it  has  value  both 
of  form  and  of  substance.  Hence  it  follows,  that  to  preserve 
it  is  a  duty.  Thence  arises  the  question,  what  one  ought  to 
do  when  this  duty  conflicts  with  another  duty  of  the  same 
class.  For  instance,  the  alternative  is  placed  before  me 
whether  I  will  betray  the  truth,  will  be  false  to  my  convic- 
tions and  my  faith,  or  whether  I  will  give  up  my  life.  This 
is  the  case  presented  to  the  martyrs,  which  the  human  con- 
science decides  naturally  and  unanimously,  not  only  by 
accepting,  but  by  imposing,  the  precept,  that  one  ought  to 
sacrifice  life  rather  than  honor,  and  to  die  rather  than  apos- 
tatize.2 The  reason  for  this  is,  that  life  or  existence  is- of 
less  value  than  the  power  of  thinking  or  believing.  By  the 
latter  we  belong  to  the  intellectual  world,  by  the  former  to 
the  world  of  sense.  If  it  is  said  that  life  has  two  elements* 
one  physical,  the  other  intellectual  and  spiritual  (that  is,  the 
soul),  and  that  in  sacrificing  one,  the  physical  life,  I  may 
perhaps  sacrifice  the  other,  the  moral,  I  reply :  either  this 
second  element,  the  soul,  is  by  its  nature  eternal  and  im- 
perishable, consequently  it  cannot  be  suppressed,  even  by 
my  will;  or  else  it  is  perishable,  and  consequently  is  of  less 
value  than  the  truth,  which  is  unquestionably  eternal  and 
absolute.  But,  it  is  said,  truth  cannot  be  harmed  by  your 
weakness :  it  is  immutable  and  inviolable  from  its  very  nature. 
Moreover,  no  one  can  deprive  you  of  the  truth :  your  con- 
science and  your  interior  liberty  are  inviolable.  Hence  you 
sacrifice  merely  its  exterior  expression ;  but  this  expression 
cannot  be  of  greater  value  than  life,  since  you  do  not  know 
but  that,  in  losing  this  existence,  you  lose  thereby  even  the 
truth  to  which  you  sacrifice  it. 

1  Fichte  (on  suicide)  remarks  that  we  might  say  of  life  what  Kant  said  of 
existence,  that  it  is  not  a  predicate,  but  is  the  necessary  condition  for  all  predi- 
cates. But  life  is  not  merely  a  condition,  it  is  a  determination  of  existence, 
for  there  are  things  which  do  not  live. 

2  Here  I  do  not  take  into  consideration  duty  toward  God  or  toward  men, 
but  speak  only  of  what  one  owes  to  himself. 


CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES.  247 

This  sophistry  may  be  answered  in  the  following  way. 
The  man  toward  whom  I  have  duties  is  the  entire  man,  soul 
and  body.  I  ought  not  only  to  keep  my  soul  pure,  letting 
the  body  follow  its  own  laws,  but  I  ought  to  make  an  incor- 
poreal use  of  my  body.  For  example,  the  body  serves  as  the 
organ  of  thought,  and  the  law  of  thought  is  truth :  then  I 
owe  it  to  myself,  that  I  should  be  entirely  (soul  and  body) 
the  organ  and  the  instrument  of  truth.  But,  when  I  sacrifice 
truth  to  life,  I  sacrifice  to  my  physical  preservation  the  right 
which  the  soul  possesses  of  making  the  body  its  instrument. 
That  which  gives  the  soul  its  dignity  is  this  very  power  of 
transforming  the  body  into  an  instrument  of  truth,  and,  as 
Kant  expresses  it,  intellectualizing  the  sensitive  world.  By 
sacrificing  this  right  and  this  power  to  the  pleasure  of  living, 
I  on  the  contrary,  so  far  as  lies  in  my  power,  reduce  the 
intellectual  element  to  that  which  is  sensitive.  The  soul 
which  continues  to  exist  under  these  conditions  really  de- 
serves no  longer  the  name  of  soul,  since  it  has  sacrificed  to 
life  every  thing  that  gives  life  its  value :  — 

"  Et  propter  vitam  vivendi  perdere  causas." 

Let  us  take  a  more  difficult  case.  Suppose  the  soul  is 
forced  to  choose  between  conscience  and  chastity.  This  is 
the  case  with  the  virgin  Theodora  in  Corneille's  tragedy: 
either  she  must  betray  her  faith  or  she  must  lose  her  honor 
and  her  virginity.  Here  we  have  in  question  two  goods, 
each  of  which  is  preferable  to  life,1  since  each  contributes 
both  to  the  purity  and  the  dignity  of  the  soul.  It  will  not 
do  to  say  that  to  submit  to  violence  without  consenting  to 
it,  is  not  to  participate  in  the  sin ;  for  you  might  equally  well 
say,  that  to  deny  one's  faith  under  constraint  is  no  true  con- 
sent nor  true  apostasy :  and  if  you  say,  that,  in  the  second 

1  Here  arises  another  question.  Should  the  duty  of  preserving  chastity  he 
more  regarded  than  the  duty  of  preserving  life  ?  Yes,  for  the  preceding  rea- 
sons. Humanly  speaking,  it  is  excusable  to  yield  to  violence  through  fear  of 
death;  but  the  duty  of  not  surrendering  one's  self  except  on  certain  conditions 
is  superior  to  the  duty  of  living. 


248  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

case,  there  would  be  consent,  because  I  might  avoid  this 
alternative  by  choosing  the  other,  then  it  should  be  said  con- 
versely of  the  other  alternative,  which  might  be  escaped  by 
choosing  the  first.  Clearly,  the  difficulty  can  be  solved  only 
by  saying  that  virginity  is  of  less  value  than  sincerity,  which 
is  plain ;  for,  if  we  change  the  conditions  (as,  for  example, 
in  the  state  of  marriage),  the  loss  of  virginity  is  a  perfectly 
innocent  and  legitimate  fact,  wholly  conformed  to  the  laws 
of  nature :  while  treason  to  one's  faith  and  conscience  is 
always  criminal.  This  view  is  also  justified  by  the  general 
opinion  of  mankind,  which  more  readily  pardons  the  weak- 
nesses of  the  senses  than  the  cowardice  of  apostasy  and 
hypocrisy. 

But  if  it  may  be  legitimate,  and  even  obligatory,  in  a  given 
case,  to  sacrifice  modesty  to  truth,  it  will  not  be  so  to  sacri- 
fice it  to  self-love  or  to  reputation ;  for  this  would  be  to  pre- 
fer external,  to  true,  honor.  For  example,  it  would  not  be 
permissible  to  steal  in  order  to  escape  the  accusation  of 
stealing,  even  if  one  should  attempt  to  repair  one's  fault  by 
suicide.  It  should  be  the  same  in  regard  to  chastity.  These 
are  the  two  errors  which  we  find  in  the  history  of  Lucretia.1 
She  was  mistaken  when  she  preferred  an  actual  (though 
constrained)  violation  of  conjugal  fidelity  to  unmerited  dis- 
grace. It  would  be  very  harsh  to  say  that  Lucretia  was  an 
adulteress,  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  that  she  was  not 
one.  St.  Augustine  himself,  who  condemns  the  suicide, 
seems  not  tc*  have  condemned  the  adultery.  But  she  might 
have  escaped  it  by  accepting  the  alternative  which  Sextus 
offered  her ;  that  is,  death  and  exterior  disgrace.  Thus  she 
was  doubly  mistaken  —  first  in  consenting,  then  in  killing 
herself.     Here  the  solution  of  the  difficulty  is,  that  external 

1  The  action  of  Lucretia  is,  nevertheless,  subjectively  nohle ;  that  is  to  say, 
from  the  stand-point  of  her  ideas  and  of  her  time,  and  as  an  energetic  expres- 
sion of  the  dignity  of  the  conjugal  bond.  But  here  I  am  speaking  of  the  action 
abstractly  considered.  Lucretia's  act  was  widely  discussed  among  the  an- 
cients. "A  wonderful  thing!"  said  a  rhetorician:  "they  were  two,  yet  only 
one  was  adulterous."    St.  Augustine  agrees  with  this. 


CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES.  249 

honor,  reputation,  is  an  extrinsic  fact  which  does  not  belong 
in  any  way  to  the  person;  while  consent,  even  if  constrained, 
even  if  involuntary,  and  accompanied  by  shame  and  regret, 
is  an  act  of  the  person.  Interior  purity  and  actual  fidelity 
are,  then,  a  greater  good. 

A  still  more  difficult  case  than  either  of  the  preceding 
arises  when  we  have  to  choose  between  two  goods  which 
are  apparently  equal,  or,  what  is  still  more  perplexing,  when 
the  same  good  is  considered  from  two  different  stand-points. 
For  instance,  suppose  I  cannot  express  my  thoughts  freely  — 
that  is  to  say,  cannot  disseminate  among  men  what  I  believe 
to  be  the  truth — unless  I  employ  certain  subterfuges  which 
make  me  seem  to  believe  what  I  do  not  believe.  This  was 
the  case  with  sceptics  in  preceding  centuries.  They  could 
express  their  thoughts  only  on  condition  of  denying  them  to 
a  certain  extent.  Here,  it  will  be  seen,  the  duty  of  telling 
the  truth  contradicts  itself.  If  I  employ  the  accepted  subter- 
fuges, I  betray  the  cause  of  truth;  but,  if  I  keep  silent,  then 
also  I  betray  it;  and  silence  is  itself  a  sort  of  subterfuge. 
Thus  truth  seems  to  be  opposed  to  itself. 

Doubtless  it  will  be  said  that  the  duty  of  expressing  one's 
entire  thought  i#an  indefinite  duty,  while  the  duty  of  saying 
nothing  contrary  to  one's  thought  is  a  definite  duty,  and  that 
it  is  therefore  one's  duty  not  to  speak  when  he  cannot  do  so 
without  doing  violence  to  the  truth.  But  we  have  seen  how 
artificial  and  fragile  is  the  theory  which  divides  duties  into 
these  two  classes.  Moreover,  this  would  be  answering  the 
question  by  the  question  itself;  for  the  problem  is,  to  decide 
which  of  the  two  duties  is  imperative,  and  which  is  optional 
—  in  other  words,  which  one  ought  to  be  sacrificed  to  the 
other.  Here  we  seem  not  to  have  one  good  to  compare  with 
another,  since  the  good  in  each  case  is  the  same. 

But,  if  we  consider  the  matter  more  closely,  we  shall  see, 
that,  in  reality,  we  are  not  comparing  one  and  the  same  good 
with  itself.  There  is,  indeed,  no  likeness  between  falsehood 
and  silence.     By  my  silence  I  resign  myself  to  not  augment- 


250  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

ing  the  sum  of  truth  (or  what  I  believe  to  be  such)  among 
men.  By  a  lie,  on  the  contrary,  I  tend  to  destroy  the  sum 
of  verity  which  already  exists,  and  therefore  future  verity 
also ;  so  that  I  destroy  my  own  work.  For,  if  I  deceive  by 
my  subterfuges,  how  can  it  be  proved  that  I  may  not  be 
deceiving  in  every  thing,  and  all  the  world  is  not  deceiving 
with  me  ?  The  first  and  essential  condition  of  laboring  for  the 
progress  of  truth  is,  not  to  destroy  confidence  in  the  truth. 
Now,  he  who  keeps  silence  (through  necessity)  contents  him- 
self with  making  no  change  in  the  state  of  things :  he  does 
not  destroy  the  possibility  of  a  better  state.  But  he  who 
deceives,  even  in  the  interest  of  truth,  thereby  imperils  the 
very  principle  which  he  professes  to  endeavor  to  save. 

A  conflict  arises  between  the  duties  of  feeling  and  the 
duties  of  intelligence  in  the  shape  of  the  question  of  vivisec- 
tion, so  much  discussed  in  these  days.  I  owe  it  to  myself 
to  cultivate  and  develop  science  if  I  am  a  scientist.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  owe  it  to  myself,  so  far  as  I  am  a  man,  that  I 
should  sympathize  with  every  thing  that  suffers,  and  that 
at  least  I  should  not  cause  needless  suffering.  Cruelty,  and 
indifference  to  suffering,  are  certainly  a  low  state  of  mind ; 
for  by  them  man  draws  near  to  the  levil  of  the  brutes. 
What,  then,  shall  be  done  ?  Should  science  be  sacrificed  to 
pity,  or  pity  to  science?  Doubtless  the  question  is  more 
complex  than  it  appears  as  presented  here ;  for  we  must  also 
consider  what  we  owe  to  humanity,  and  what  we  owe  to  the 
animals.  But  considering  the  problem  merely  as  I  have 
stated  it  —  that  is  to  say,  as  a  conflict  between  two  personal 
duties — I  remark  first,  that  genuine  cruelty  implies  the  idea 
of  maltreating  for  the  sake  of  injuring,  and  even  that  of  find- 
ing a  certain  pleasure  in  the  sufferings  of  others.  The  fact 
of  causing  pain  is  not  always  cruelty,  as  is  shown  by  surgical 
operations.  These,  indeed,  have  for  their  object  the  good  of 
the  patient,  which  cannot  be  said  of  vivisections.  But,  in 
this  case,  the  naturalist  may,  at  least,  say  that  the  object 
in  view  is  not  the  suffering  of  the  animal ;  that  he  does  not 


CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES.  251 

torture  him  simply  to  cause  him  suffering,  but  even  alleviates 
his  sufferings  whenever  he  can,  and  so  far  as  he  can.  Yet 
this  reply  is  far  from  being  satisfactory;  for  though  it  is 
the  highest  degree  of  cruelty  or  vengeance  to  enjoy  the 
sufferings  of  another,  yet  it  is  an  equally  certain,  though 
less  degree,  to  be  indifferent  to  them.  He  who  goes 
straight  on  to  his  purpose  (like  a  Robespierre  or  a  Saint- 
Just),  without  caring  for  the  sufferings  of  men,  is  a  cruel 
man,  even  if  he  takes  no  pleasure  in  those  sufferings.  Thus 
it  is  not  necessary  to  impute  to  the  physiologist  the  absurd 
and  monstrous  cruelty  of  enjoying  the  sufferings  of  animals ; 
but  it  seems  as  though  indifference  itself  were  a  drying-up  of 
the  soul,  a  weakening  of  its  sympathetic  faculties,  and  there- 
fore, that,  while  the  man  is  growing  greater  in  one  direction, 
he  is  growing  less  in  another.  This  difficulty  might  be  settled 
by  saying,  with  Spinoza,  that  pity  is  an  evil ;  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  admit  this.  Or,  again,  it  might  be  said  that  pity, 
and  the  feelings  in  general,  are  of  an  order  inferior  to  the 
intellect,  which  may  be  true,  but  only  in  the  sense  that  pity 
should  be  guided  by  intelligence,  not  sacrificed  to  it.  To 
guide  the  feelings  by  the  reason  is  not  to  destroy  the  feelings 
for  the  benefit  of  the  reason.  It  seems,  then,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  solve  the  problem  proposed  if  we  confine 
ourselves 'to  the  preceding  point  of  view.  Or,  rather,  the 
only  possible  answer  would  be,  that  any  voluntary  cruelty, 
even  if  useful,  even  if  exercised  toward  inferior  beings,  is 
illegitimate,  excepting  in  case  of  self-defence.  But  if  we 
consider  the  interests  of  humanity,  which  are  here  bound  up 
with  the  interests  of  science,  the  question  presents  a  new 
aspect ;  and  the  right  to  perform  vivisections  becomes  only 
a  special  form  of  the  general  right  which  nature  gives  us  to 
use  animals  for  our  benefit,  while  sparing  them  all  useless 
suffering. 

Second  Rule,  —  According  to  this  rule,  the  importance 
of  a  duty  depends  on  the  extent  of  the  group  to  which  it 
applies. 


252  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Here  we  have  first  the  self-evident  principle  that  a  good 
is  greater  and  more  excellent  —  other  things  being  equal  — 
when  the  number  of  individuals  who  enjoy  it  is  greater.  For 
example,  the  happiness  of  a  whole  family  is  worth  more  than 
that  of  an  individual ;  that  of  all  the  families  in  a  state  than 
that  of  a  single  one ;  and  that  of  all  nations  than  that  of  one 
only.  In  general,  whenever  the  happiness  of  several  does 
not  diminish  the  happiness  of  one,  but  is  consonant  with  it, 
it  is  evidently  to  be  preferred. 

Thus,  when  the  good  of  one  is  consonant  with  the  good  of 
several  or  of  all,  there  is  no  difficulty.  The  conflict  actually 
arises,  only  when  the  good  of  a  great  number  cannot  be 
obtained  without  some  sacrifice  of  individual  good.  The 
moral  agent  is  then  called  upon  to  decide  between  his  own 
good  and  that  of  the  community.  Here  the  principle  is,  that 
the  greatest  good  is  that  of  the  largest  community,  and 
that  the  goods  of  the  different  groups  may  be  estimated  by  the 
extent  of  each.  But  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  that,  to  make 
this  principle  applicable,  we  must  compare  the  same  goods, 
or  the  same  kind  of  goods,  which  was  implied  in  saying, 
every  thing  else  being  equal. 

However,  even  in  this  case,  the  rule  is  not  absolutely  true 
without  restriction :  it  must  at  least  be  specially  interpreted. 
If,  for  example,  we  admit  unreservedly  that  the  good  of  the 
individual  ought  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  good  of  the  whole, 
would  it  not  follow  that  the  life  of  one  alone  might  be  sacri- 
ficed for  the  preservation  of  all,  that  the  liberty  of  one  or 
of  a  few  might  be  sacrificed  to  preserve  the  liberty  of  all, 
that  the  fortune  and  the  good  of  individuals  might  be  sacri- 
ficed or  absorbed  for  the  benefit  of  the  community?  The 
gravest  errors  of  what  is  called  socialism,  and  some  of  the 
worst  excesses  of  despotism,  might  be  justified  by  the  rule 
that  the  good  of  a  few  can,  and  should,  be  subordinated  to 
the  good  of  all.  Yet,  in  another  sense,  if  this  rule  were  not 
admitted,  it  would  follow  that  one  would  have  a  right  to 
prefer  his  country  to  humanity,  his  family  to  his  country, 
and  himself  to  all  the  rest. 


CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES.  253 

The  maxim  of  Fenelon  is  perfectly  right,  but  it  should  not 
be  wrongly  understood.  When  we  say  that  one  ought  to 
prefer  the  good  of  the  larger  groups  to  that  of  the  smaller, 
it  must  always  be  understood  that  we  are  speaking  of  goods 
which  are  personal,  and  which  I  may,  to  a  certain  extent, 
control.  For  example,  I  have  a  right  to  subordinate  my 
good  to  that  of  my  family,  for  in  one  sense  I  am  responsible 
for  both.  But  it  must  not  therefore  be  concluded  that  I  have 
a  right  to  sacrifice  the  good  of  another  individual  to  that  of 
my  family,  under  the  pretext  that  a  family  is  worth  more 
than  an  individual.  Neither  have  I  the  right  to  sacrifice 
another  family  to  mine,  under  the  pretext  that  mine  is  the 
more  numerous,  and  that  the  good  of  the  greater  number 
should  be  preferred.  It  is  not,  then,  the  good  of  some  indi- 
vidual in  general,  or  of  some  family  in  general,  that  I  ought 
to  subordinate  to  the  good  of  my  family  or  to  the  good  of 
my  country.  Jt  is  my  own  good  which  I  should  sacrifice 
to  that  of  my  family :  it  is  the  good  of  my  family  which  I 
should  subordinate  to  that  of  my  country.  As  to  the  good 
of  other  individuals  or  other  families,  I  have  no  right  to 
dispose  of  that  except  in  the  cases  determined  by  law.  Thus 
the  principles  enunciated  imply  no  consequences  which  need 
be  feared,  and  should  not  be  understood  in  the  sense  of  that 
famous  adage,  Salus  populi  suprema  lex.  On  the  contrary, 
they  condemn  it.  What  is  meant  by  saying  that  the  good  of 
one's  country  should  be  subordinated  to  that  of  humanity? 
It  is  meant  that  our  duties  toward  man  in  general  are  of  a 
higher  order  than  our  duties  toward  the  state,  and  that  the 
former  ought  not  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  latter,  etc.  The 
execution  of  an  innocent  man  is  the  violation  of  a  duty 
toward  humanity ;  the  confiscation  of  property  is  a  violation 
of  duty  toward  property ;  in  a  word,  every  act  of  injustice 
is  the  violation  of  a  general  duty  which  is  superior  to  the 
more  special  duties  which  are  due  to  the  country  or  the  state. 
The  celebrated  phrase :  u  Let  the  colonies  perish,  rather  than 
a  principle ! "  may  have  seemed  a  rhetorical  exaggeration ; 


254     *         THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

but  it  was,  nevertheless,  correct  in  principle  :  for  no  institu- 
tion which  is  based,  hypothetically,  only  upon  injustice,  has 
any  right  to  exist. 

But  it  is  one  thing  not  to  disregard  justice  or  humanity 
in  the  interest  of  my  country  or  of  my  family,  and  another 
thing  to  sacrifice  my  family  to  my  country,  my  country  to 
humanity. 

For  instance,  should  I,  like  Brutus  and  Torquatus,  put 
my  own  son  to  death  in  order  to  save  the  state  ?  Are  these 
great  examples  of  fiery  patriotism  binding  upon  Christian 
nations ?  would  they  not  be  revolting  to  us?  Yes,  doubtless : 
the  modern  conscience  has  become  more  delicate,  and  it 
orders  or  permits  the  individual  to  avoid  these  repulsive 
conflicts  between  the  heart  and  the  demands  of  the  state. 
Thus  it  would  not  permit  Brutus  himself  to  condemn  his 
son  to  death :  it  would  show  indulgence  to  young  Torquatus, 
because  military  discipline  no  longer  wears  the  sacred  char- 
acter which  it  bore  among  the  Romans.  But,  in  spite  of  the 
modern  delicacy  of  a  conscience  enlightened  and  softened  by 
Christianity,  it  is  still  true  that  the  family  should  be  lost 
:sight  of  in  the  state.  In  certain  cases  this  would  indeed  be 
,a  very  difficult  act  of  heroism ;  but  a  thing  which  is  difficult, 
.and  requires  more  than  ordinary  strength,  is  none  the  less 
.a  duty. 

But  if  the  human  conscience  is  accustomed  to  admire,  and 
^command  in  extreme  cases,  the  sacrifice  of  one's  family  to 
one's  country,  it  does  not  equally  well  grasp  the  idea  of  the 
sacrifice  of  one's  country  to  humanity.  Imagine  the  impos- 
sible case  that  an  emperor  of  Russia  should  come  to  com- 
prehend the  injustice  and  monstrosity  of  the  oppression  of 
Poland,  and  that,  under  the  influence  of  his  conscientious 
scruples,  he  should  consent  to  restore  to  ancient  Poland  her 
independence  and  liberty.  Undoubtedly  this  conduct  would 
be  in  strict  conformity  with  duty,  yet  it  is  highly  probable 
?that  Russian  patriots  would  regard  such  an  act  as  treason- 
able.    The  case  is  similar  when  a  country  is  drawn  into  an 


CONFLICT  OF  DUTIES.  255 

unjust  war.  People  are  tempted  to  regard  as  traitors  all 
those  who  say  that  the  war  is  unjust,  and  who  speak  against 
it.  Yet  it  is  a  manifest  duty  to  prefer  justice  to  one's  coun- 
try. But,  it  will  be  said,  if  this  is  true,  one  would  have  a 
right,  not  merely  to  refuse  to  take  part  in  an  unjust  war,  but 
even  to  bear  arms  in  favor  of  the  oppressed  against  one's 
own  country.  For  instance,  those  who  regarded  the  wars 
of  the  empire  with  Europe  as  unjust,  would  have  had  a 
right,  as  Moreau  believed  that  they  had,  to  bear  arms  against 
their  own  country.  This  consequence  is  not  involved  in  the 
principle.  In  truth,  the  right  of  criticising  an  unjust  war 
cannot  go  so  far  as  to  give  the  right  of  co-operating  with  the 
enemies  of  one's  country,  although  it  might  extend  to  the 
right  of  refusing  to  co-operate  with  such  injustice.  Every 
soldier  who  is  not  bound  by  legal  obligations  (which  preclude 
the  right  of  examination)  may  and  should  refuse  to  fight  in 
behalf  of  a  notoriously  unjust  cause,  such,  for  instance,  as  a 
war  for  the  re-establishment  of  slavery,  or,  to  take  a  case 
not  hypothetical,  the  odious  war  by  which  England  forced 
the  opium-trade  upon  China.  The  reason  why  this  duty  is 
far  from  being  binding  is,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  deter- 
mine just  how  far  a  war  is  just  or  unjust.  Moreover,  there 
is  another' principle,  the  preserver  and  guaranty  of  the* liberty 
of  the  people,  that  the  army  ought  not  to  discuss  the  orders 
which  it  executes.  Indeed,  an  army  which  discusses  is  an 
army  which  decides:  an  army  which  decides  is  an  army 
which  commands,  which  governs,  and  which  makes  the  laws. 
But  it  is,  nevertheless,  true,  that  no  man  is  individually 
obliged  to  assist  in  an  act  which  is  notoriously  barbarous  or 
unjust :  but  then  it  would  be  his  duty  to  retire  from  military 
to  civil  life,  and,  while  renouncing  his  duties,  renounce  also 
his  rights ;  for  the  two  cannot  be  separated. 

Thus  far  we  have  taken  for  illustration  only  compara- 
tively simple  cases :  the  first,  concerning  goods  of  unequal 
value  belonging  to  the  same  group  of  duties,  when  the  rule 
is  that  the  greater  should  be  preferred  to   the   less;   the 


256  THE  THEORY  OF  MOHALS. 

second,  concerning  one  and  the  same  kind  of  good  affecting 
groups  of  unequal  extent,  and  for  these  we  have  accepted 
the  principle  that  the  good  of  the  larger  group  should .  be 
preferred  to  that  of  the  smaller. 

But  a  third  and  more  complicated  case  may  arise  when  we 
have  on  the  one  hand  a  more  excellent  good,  and  on  the 
other  a  more  extensive  group.  For  instance,  on  one  side, 
my  honor ;  on  the  other,  the  security  of  my  family  or  of  my 
country.  Here  the  conflict  does  not  arise  from  a  compari- 
son of  goods,  neither  does  it  come  from  a  comparison  of 
groups:  it  arises  from  the  opposition  of  goods  and  groups 
to  each  other.  As  an  individual  I  ought  to  prefer  the  more 
excellent  goods  to  those  which  are  inferior :  as  a  member  of 
the  human  race  I  ought  to  prefer  general  to  individual  good 
—  the  existence  of  society  or  of  the  family  to  my  own  exist- 
ence, public  or  domestic  prosperity  to  my  own  individual 
prosperity,  the  liberty  of  all  to  that  of  myself.  In  a  word, 
when  homogeneous  goods  are  in  question,  the  good  of  all  is 
always  more  desirable  than  private  good;  but,  if  my  own 
good  is  of  a  superior  order,  will  it  then  be  unrestrictedly 
true  that  I  ought  to  prefer  the  good  of  others  to  my  own 
good  ?     Here  a  new  rule  becomes  necessary. 

Third  Rule.  — ■  When  the  order  of  goods  comes  in  conflict 
with  the  order  of  duties,  the  latter  should  be  subordinated  to 
the  former. 

By  the  order  of  goods,  I  mean  the  scale  of  goods  accord- 
ing to  which  we  measure  them. and  assign  to  them  different 
values.  Thus  the  goods  of  the  soul  are  superior  to  the 
goods  of  the  body,  and  the  goods  of  the  body  to  exterior 
goods.  By  the  order  of  duties  I  mean  the  scale  of  duties 
so  far  as  they  relate  to  groups  of  greater  or  less  extent  — 
the  individual,  the  family,  the  country,  humanity. 

Now,  when  the  two  orders  clash,  I  say  that  the  order  of 
goods  should  be  regarded,  rather  than  the  order  of  duties ; 
in  other  words,  that  the  duties  to  one's  self  are  more  bind- 
ing than  those  toward  others. 


CONFLICT  OF 


duties.     (UHIVE&SITY^ 


Remember  that  we  are  not  now  comparing 
goods ;  that  is,  a  good  which  is  greater,  and  one  which  is 
less.  In  this  case,  and  in  this  alone,  we  should  take  into 
consideration  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  good,  not  the  greater 
or  less  extent  of  the  group.  For  instance,  I  ought  to  pay 
less  regard  to  my  own  happiness  than  to  that  of  my  family, 
to  my  life  than  to  theirs,  etc. ;  but  I  ought  not  to  regard  my 
honor  less  than  their  pleasure,  my  conscience  less  than  their 
tranquillity.  I  ought  not  to  lie,  for  instance,  in  order  to 
promote  their  prosperity ;  for  to  lie  is  to  assail  the  dignity 
and  the  excellence  of  my  intelligence,  which  is  of  an  order 
superior  to  that  of  the  happiness  of  the  senses,  or  simple 
corporeal  well-being. 

Hence  the  family  has  no  right  to  require  that  its  head 
should  become  a  flatterer,  intriguer,  or  rapacious  person,  in 
order  to  maintain  it.  So,  too,  duty  toward  other  men  should 
never  be  carried  to  such  an  extent  as  to  make  us  sacrifice  to 
them  our  honor  or  our  dignity.  If  this  be  true,  it  is  said, 
then  police  and  war  must  be  impossible ;  for  each  has  abso- 
lute need  of  spies,  and  espionage  is  generally  regarded  as 
a  base  and  humiliating  occupation.  I  reply,  that  to  be  a 
spy,  so  far  as  this  is  accompanied  by  treason,  is,  in  truth, 
unworthy  of  any  honorable  conscience ;  but,  if  it  is  merely 
a  bold  and  dangerous  investigation  of  the  projects  of  the 
enemy,  it  involves  nothing  contrary  to  the  laws  of  honor. 
It  is  admitted  that  an  officer  who  makes  a  reconnoissance  at 
the  head  of  his  men,  does  nothing  contrary  to  the  laws  of 
war.  If  he  does  it  alone,  approaching  the  enemy  more 
closely,  or  even  entering  within  his  lines,  does  his  action 
become  more  blameworthy  in  becoming  more  perilous? 
Evidently  not.  Following  out  this  idea,  we  shall  see  that  no 
espionage  is  shameful  except  that  which  is  accompanied  by 
perfidy  and  treachery ;  for  example,  that  of  one  who  feigns 
friendship  that  he  may  more  easily  betray,  or  of  the  traitor 
who  passes  himself  off  as  thief  that  he  may  better  help  to 
catch  the  thieves.    It  is  this  sort  of  espionage  which  is 


258  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

shameful,  though  it  may  be  useful  and  even  necessary.  But, 
while  it  may  be  necessary  to  make  use  of  human  vices,  they 
are  none  the  less  vices ;  and  no  one  can  be  authorized  to 
practise  vices  because  they  may  be  serviceable  to  the  state. 
It  is  but  rarely,  moreover,  that  any  cases  actually  arise  in 
which  there  is  any  real  conflict  between  the  conscience  of 
the  individual  and  the  duties  of  the  citizen.  A  politician 
passes  from  one  party  into  another  under  the  pretext  that 
his  duty  is  to  his  whole  country.  But  the  country  is  in 
much  greater  need  of  men  who  are  faithful  to  their  opinions 
and  their  principles  than  it  can  be  of  public  functionaries : 
this  is  not  a  case  of  conflict.  A  weak  country  makes  itself 
the  vassal  of  a  more  powerful  country  in  the  fear  that  it 
may  be  absorbed  into  it,  but  this  is  to  avoid  the  evil  by 
anticipating  it  in  effect.  In  such  a  case,  dignity  is  also  the 
best  policy.  A  politician  breaks  an  oath  under  the  pretext 
of  saving  the  state ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  will  save 
the  state,  and  it  is  certain  that  he  will  dishonor  himself  by 
his  perjury.  It  will  be  seen,  that,  in  the  greater  part  of 
similar  cases,  the  good  is  uncertain  and  the  evil  is  incontest- 
able. The  conflict  may,  then,  be  avoided  easily,  at  least 
in  theory:  practically  the  choice  frequently  involves  great 
sacrifices.  However  this  may  be,  whenever  there  is  any 
real  conflict,  the  principle  of  honor  and  of  personal  dignity 
should  be  respected  more  highly  than  the  principle  of  the 
interest  of  the  greatest  number. 

I  am  far  from  thinking  that  the  preceding  remarks  ex- 
haust the  subject  of  which  I  am  treating.  I  have  attempted 
merely  to  place  some  landmarks  upon  a  road  which,  if  not 
entirely  new,  has  at  least  been  forsaken  by  secular  moralists. 
The  subject  would  require  a  whole  volume.1  I  content 
myself  with  a  preface  only. 

1  In  the  third  part  (chaps,  i.,  ii.,  and  iii.),  I  shall  return  to  the  question  oi 
moral  conflicts,  but  shall  regard  it  from  another  point  of  view. 


BOOK  THIRD. 


MOEALITY,    OE   THE   MOEAL   AGE^T. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS. 

MORAL  science  generally  concerns  itself  only  with  the 
law  in  itself,  with  what  may  be  called  the  objective 
law,  such  as  it  would  appear  in  itself  to  a  reason  absolutely 
capable  of  understanding  it  in  its  entirety.  It  has  paid  rather 
too  little  attention  to  subjective  morality ;  that  is  to  say,  to 
the  law  considering  it  as  judged,  known,  interpreted,  and 
applied  by  the  moral  agent.  It  has  abandoned  to  theological 
ethics  the  study  of  this  kind  of  questions,  and  the  latter  has 
examined  them  principally  from  a  practical  point  of  view. 

Yet  there  is  here  a  philosophical  problem  of  extreme  diffi- 
culty. I  am  told  that  the  moral  law  is  absolutely  obligatory. 
But  what  moral  law  is  here  spoken  of?  Is  it  that  which 
exists  in  itself,  independently  of  myself,  of  my  knowledge, 
of  my  personal,  judgment  ?  Or  is  it  the  moral  law  as  it  is 
known  and  understood  by  me  ?  In  the  former  case,  by  what 
sign  can  I  recognize  this  law  ?  Where  is  it  ?  How  can  I 
discover  it,  if  it  is  not  in  my  own  conscience  ?  If  this  is  not 
the  law  itself,  I  can  obey  only  in  so  far  as  I  know  the  law ; 
and  I  can  know  it  only  by  my  own  thought,  my  own  judg- 
ment. In  the  second  case,  if  I  take  my  own  conscience  for 
judge,  how  can  I  be  sure  that  I  am  really  obeying  the  law 
itself,  and  not  a  law  of  my  own  invention,  a  fiction  of  my 
own  mind  ?  In  a  word,  it  seems  as  though  any  law  to  be 
obligatory  must  be  objective  —  that  is  to  say,  independent  of 
individual  modes  of  thought  and  feeling ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  law  necessarily  becomes  subjective,  so  far  as  it  is 
known  and  followed  by  an  individual  agent.     Thus  I  can 

261 


262  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

never  be  sure  that  I  am  obeying  the  true,  absolute  law, 
which  alone,  however,  seems  to  have  a  right  to  command 
my  obedience. 

A  great  German  philosopher,  Fichte,  saw  the  full  difficulty 
of  this  problem  (which  Kant  himself  had  overlooked) ;  and 
he  solved  it  boldly.  "  The  formal  law  of  morals,"  he  said, 
"  is  this :  Always  act  in  conformity  with  your  convictions  of 
duty  (in  other  words,  always  obey  your  conscience).  This 
rule  includes  two  others:  First,  try  to  understand  clearly 
what  is  your  duty  in  every  matter ;  then,  when  you  are  con- 
vinced what  your  duty  is,  do  it,  for  the  sole  reason  that  you 
are  sure  that  it  is  your  duty."  * 

The  only  possible  practical  criterion  of  morality  is,  then, 
the  actual  conviction  or  the  actual  conscience.  If  we  are 
told  that  this  conscience  should  seek  enlightenment  by  con- 
sulting the  consciences  of  other  men,  we  reply  that  this  is 
implied  in  the  rule  itself;  for  it  is  my  own  conscience  which 
tells  me  that  I  ought  to  consult  the  consciences  of  others. 
And,  besides,  there  may  be  a  case  in  which  the  conscience  of 
a  man  will  feel  itself  morally  superior  to  the  consciences  of  all 
others  (as  with  Socrates),  and  neither  can,  nor  ought,  to  be 
sacrificed  to  them.  Is  it  said  that  we  should  hold  our  con- 
sciences in  subjection  to  the  word  of  God,  or  to  that  of  his 
ministers  ?  I  say  again,  that  I  submit  to  the  word  of  God, 
only  because  I  am  convinced  that  this  is  my  duty ;  and  here, 
again,  it  is  my  personal  conviction  which  remains  the  ultimate 
criterion  of  the  moral  law. 

The  principle  of  personal  conviction  as  a  supreme  rule  of 
duty  does  not  exclude  that  practice  so  highly  recommended 
by  religion,  and  which  philosophers  themselves  have  not 
ignored ;  that  is,  the  direction  of  the  conscience.2  This  prac- 
tice is  in  perfect  conformity  with  experience  and  common 
sense.     What  can  be  more  natural  than  that  those  who  are 

1  System  der  Sittenlehre,  pp.  142, 147. 

2  Consult  in  the  Moralistes  sous  V Empire  Romain,  by  M.  C.  Martha,  the 
interesting  chapter  entitled,  Sfneque,  Directeur  de  Conscience. 


r* 


THE   MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS.  263 

wisest  should  guide  and  instruct  those  who  are  less  wise  ? 
Moreover,  as  we  have  seen,  each  of  us  is  naturally  inclined 
to  delude  himself  as  to  the  state  of  his  conscience.  Led 
away,  and  more  or  less  blinded,  by  his  passions,  each  one  of 
us  needs  to  place  himself  before  an  impartial  spectator,  and 
to  generalize  the  motives  of  his  actions,  in  order  to  perceive 
their  moral  value.  But  this  abstract  and  invisible  spectator 
is  very  cold:  it  is  difficult  to  evoke  him.  One  must  be 
already  superior  to  one's  passions,  and  must  see  himself 
clearly,  before  he  will  be  able  to  stand  apart  from  himself, 
and  regard  himself  with  an  impartial  eye.  Is  it  not  more  effi- 
cacious to  choose  a  judge  and  spectator  who  lives  and  speaks, 
whose  conscience  will  arouse  our  own,  whose  authority  will 
impress  us,  and  before  whom  we  shall  dread  to  blush  ? 

All  this  is  true ;  but  the  direction  of  conscience  should 
not  be,  either  with  him  who  undertakes  it,  or  with  him  who 
seeks  it,  a  means  of  relieving  the  individual  from  his  own 
conscience  by  substituting  for  it  that  of  another.  All  direc- 
tion should  have  for  its  object,  to  enable  him  who  submits 
to  it  to  direct  himself.  Just  as  you  intrust  yourself  to  the 
care  of  a  physician  so  that  you  may  become  able  to  do  with- 
out him,  so  you  should  put  yourself  in  the  hands  of  a  moral 
physiciau,  only  to  gain  that  health  and  strength  which  con- 
sist in  self-government. 

From  the  principle  given  previously,  Fichte  draws  this 
apparently  paradoxical  consequence  :  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  an  erroneous  conscience.  Kant  had  already  enunci- 
ated the  same  theory,  but  did  not  attach  much  importance 
to  it :  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  one  of  the  important  principles 
of  Fichte's  philosophy. 

"  The  conscience  [he  says]  never  deceives,  and  can  never  deceive  itself. 
...  It  renders  the  ultimate  decision,  which  is  without  appeal.  To  at- 
tempt to  rise  above  one's  conscience  is  to  attempt  to  go  out  of  one's  self, 
to  separate  one's  self  from  one's  self." 

This  principle  seems  contrary  to  common  sense,  and  even 


264  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

dangerous  in  its  results.  It  justifies,  apparently,  all  fanati- 
cisms, all  aberrations  of  the  moral  sense,  all  the  illusions  of 
an  over-wrought  imagination.  One  might  even  go  so  far  as 
to  cry  with  Jacobi  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm  — 

"  Yes,  I  am  that  impious  one  who  would  fain  lie,  as  Desdemona  lied 
in  dying;  deceive,  as  did  Pylades,  declaring  himself  to  be  Orestes,  that 
he  might  die  for  him ;  kill,  as  did  Timoleon ;  break  his  oath  and  the  law, 
as  did  Epaminondas  and  John  de  Witt  .  .  .  because  the  law  is  made 
for  man,  and  not  man  for  the  law."  x 

This  eloquent  utterance  may  be  accepted  as  the  vivid  and 
pathetic  expression  of  a  truth  which  is  recognized  by  all 
men,  which  is,  that  in  certain  special  cases  a  certain  violation 
of  duty  may  have  the  appearance  of  heroism.  Such  errors 
may  be  excused,  or  even  admired.  But  if  you  develop 
them  into  a  principle,  and  maintain  without  restriction  the 
sovereignty  of  the  conscience,  do  you  not  suppress  all  law 
and  all  principle  ?  We  may  admit  with  the  theologians  that 
a  conscience  in  error  excuses  an  act,  but  not  that  it  is  never 
in  error. 

It  seems  to  me  easy  enough  to  solve  this  difficulty.  The 
judgment  pronounced  by  the  conscience  in  each  particular 
case  is,  in  reality,  composed  of  two  judgments :  1.  Such  an 
action  is  your  duty;  2.  Perform  this  action  because  it  is 
your  duty.  Now,  in  the  first  of  these  judgments  the  con- 
science may  be  mistaken,  for  it  may  happen  that  a  certain 
action  which  I  believe  to  be  my  duty  is  not  my  duty.  But 
it  is  not  mistaken  in  the  second ;  for,  if  it  is  certain  that  any 
given  action  is  my  duty,  I  ought  to  perform  it.  If,  then,  it 
be  agreed  that  the  name  of  conscience  shall  be  applied  only 
to  the  second  of  these  two  judgments,  to  the  act  by  which 
I  declare,  that,  a  certain  action  being  my  duty,  I  ought  to 
perform  it,  it  is  clear  that  such  a  judgment  is  never  errone- 

1  Jacobi,  Letter  to  Fichte,  p.  23.  It  is  curious  that  this  passage,  which  is 
merely  an  exaggeration  of  Fichte's  principle,  was  written  by  Jacobi  in  oppo- 
sition to  Fichte's  philosophy.  So  little  are  philosophers  inclined  to  understand 
each  other ! 


THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS.  265 

ous.  In  other  words,  if,  in  a  judgment  of  conscience,  we 
leave  out  of  consideration  the  matter  of  the  act,  and  regard 
only  the  form,  there  will  evidently  remain  only  the  will  to 
do  one's  duty,  which  is  necessarily  infallible.  Where,  then, 
is  the  error?  It  lies  in  the  judgment  which  decides  that  a 
certain  action  is  a  duty.  Now,  Kant  admits  that  we  may 
deceive  ourselves  in  this  matter,  and  he  advises  us  to  en- 
lighten our  intelligences  as  to  what  is,  or  is  not,  our  duty : 
thus  he  makes  a  distinction  between  the  intelligence  and  the 
conscience.  It  is  the  first  which  tells  us,  Such  a  thing  is 
your  duty.  It  is  the  second  which  says  to  us,  Do  such  a 
thing  because  it  is  your  duty.     All  paradox  disappears. 

It  may  be  said  in  a  general  way,  that  to  will  to  do  one's 
duty  is  to  do  one's  duty,  and  that  there  is  no  other  duty. 
But  here  the  word  duty  is  ambiguous :  it  may  be  understood 
objectively  or  subjectively.  Subjectively,  and  in  my  own 
eyes,  I  can  have  no  duty  but  that  which  I  consider  as  such;  * 
but  objectively,  and  abstractly,  to  an  intelligence  knowing 
my  relations  with  all  things,  I  might  have  duties  entirely 
different  from  those  recognized  by  me.  Duty  in  itself  is, 
then,  not  the  same  as  duty  relative  to  ourselves.  I  can  never, 
in  fact,  rise  to  that  ideal  state  of  an  absolute  intelligence  : 
but  I  may  advance  farther  and  farther  in  the  knowledge  of 
my  nature,  and,  from  my  relations  with  other  men,  I  may 
come  to  know  myself  better  than  I  did  before,  and  thus 
discover  other  duties  of  which  I  had  hitherto  no  conception, 
but  which  are  superior  to  those  which  I  had  previously 
imposed  upon  myself.  I  recognize,  for  instance,  that  when 
I  was  a  young  man  I  allowed  myself  to  do  many  things 
which  a  better  knowledge  of  my  true  life  here  below  would 
have  forbidden :  I  recognize,  being  a  father,  many  things 
which  I  did  not  understand  as  a  son.     I  transport,  so  to 

1  In  this  sense  Hemsterhuys  could  say;  "Brutus,  in  killing  Caesar,  may 
have  committed  a  crime  against  the  laws  of  society  ;  hut  within  the  soul  of 
Brutus  this  action  was  undoubtedly  in  conformity  with  the  eternal  order." 
See  Em.  Grucker,  Hemsterhuys,  p.  139. 


266  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

speak,  these  new  duties,  of  which  I  was  not  conscious,  into 
niy  past ;  I  compare  and  contrast  them  with  the  inadequate 
ideas  of  duty  which  my  conscience  then  held :  thus  I  form 
the  idea  of  relative  and  abstract  duty.  Undoubtedly  if  I 
were  to  judge  myself  in  the  past,  I  know  that  I  ought  to  take 
for  a  standard  my  conscience  as  it  then  was ;  but,  if  I  am 
to  judge  myself  in  an  abstract  and  absolute  manner,  I  take 
as  a  standard  my  present  conscience ;  and  I  can  conceive  an 
ideal  state  in  which,  knowing  the  true  nature  of  things,  I 
could  judge  myself  in  an  infallible  and  absolute  manner. 
But  though  I  never  attain  this  ideal  conscience,  my  personal 
experience  and  that  of  humanity  is  enough  to  teach  me  that 
there  may  be  an  abstract  duty,  of  which  my  actual  duty  is, 
as  Kant  said,  but  the  shadow  and  the  anticipative  image. 

Fichte's  principle,  "Obey  your  conscience,"  has  been 
attacked  as  taking  from  morals  all  scientific  character.  If, 
they  say,  the  conscience  is  the  sole  and  fjnal  judge  of  human 
actions ;  if,  to  distinguish  good  from  evil,  it  is  sufficient  to 
refer  to  the  sort  of  instinct,  more  or  less  deceptive,  which 
each  of  us  has  within  him,  to  that  divine  voice  which  speaks 
to  us  with  a  mysterious  authority  —  then  moral  science  be- 
comes useless:  it  will  be  of  no  use  to  teach  us  what  our 
duties  are,  since  we  know  this  already.  Moral  science  is  at 
an  end  when  it  is  summed  up  in  this  formula ;  Obey  your 
convictions,  obey  your  conscience. 

This  objection  rests  upon  a  confusion  of  ideas  which  it  is 
easy  to  make  clear.  Science  is  one  thing,  action  is  another. 
The  problem  which  Fichte  tried  to  solve  was  this:  How 
should  one  act  at  the  moment  when  the  necessity  for  action 
presents  itself?  Then,  and  then  alone,  the  only  possible 
rule  is  to  obey  one's  conscience  :  it  is  impossible  to  give  any 
other.-  This  is  plain.  If  I  do  not  obey  my  own  conscience, 
shall  I  obey  that  of  another?  But  why  should  I  have  any 
more  confidence  in  another  person's  conscience  than  in  my 
own  ?  Obey  the  word  of  God,  they  say.  But  is  it  not  my 
conscience  which  tells  me  that  I  ought  to  obey  the  word  of 


THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS.  267 

God?  Obey  the  traditions  of  your  ancestors.  But  can  I, 
and  ought  I,  to  do  this  if  they  seem  to  rny  actual  conscience 
unjust  and  false?  Moreover,  is  it  not  my  conscience  that 
tells  me  that  I  ought  to  respect  the  wisdom  of  my  fathers, 
the  honorable  traditions  of  my  family  and  of  my  race,  the 
sacred  exhortations  of  religion,  and  the  teachings  of  my 
instructors?  Whatever  is  said,  and  whatever  authority  is 
invoked,  there  will  always  come  a  final  moment  when  I  must 
decide  according  to  my  conscience. 

But  this  purely  practical  rule  of  obedience  to  one's  con- 
science, does  not  in  the  least  exclude  scientific  and  abstract 
research  into  the  principles,  and  the  consequences,  of  which 
moral  science  is  composed.  This  science  is  founded,  like  all 
others,  on  analysis  and  on  reasoning.  It  seeks  to  determine 
duty  in  each  particular  case  by  referring  to  general  laws 
already  recognized.  These  laws  themselves  it  establishes  by 
the  study  of  human  nature ;  and  although  it  starts  with  the 
fact  of  the  moral  consciousness  —  that  is  to  say,  of  the  dis- 
tinction between  good  and  evil  —  as  a  primitive  fact,  yet  it 
does  not  confine  itself  to  the  statement  of  this  fact,  but  inter- 
prets it,  frequently  correcting  and  enlightening  it.  Just  as 
physics,  beginning  with  the  facts  given  by  the  senses,  soon 
rises  above  sensation,  and  teaches  us  to  go  beyond  it,  so  moral 
science,  beginning  with  the  moral  sense,  teaches  us  to  edu- 
cate it,  and  to  substitute  an  enlightened  conscience  for  one 
that  is  blind.  But  an  enlightened  conscience  is  still  a  con- 
science. Besides,  when  it  is  necessary  to  act,  each  one  must 
appeal  to  the  conscience  which  he  has  at  the  very  time  when 
he  acts. 

Even  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  the  rule ;  "  Obey  your 
conscience,"  is  far  from  meaning  that  one  should  act  blindly 
and  without  reason ;  and  it  is  obligatory  on  each  person  that 
he  should  make  every  possible  effort  to  know  and  choose  his 
true  duty,  and  to  distinguish  it  from  apparent  duty.  But, 
however  deeply  and  profoundly  this  examination  may  be 
pushed,  it  must  come  to  an  end;  for  the  necessity  for  action 


268  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

is  present.  Now,  at  this  last  moment,  the  examination  being 
made,  reflection  having  been  completed,  what,  I  ask,  can  be 
the  rule  of  action ?  " Do  what  you  ought"  says  one.  Yes ; 
but  what  ought  I  to  do?  this  is  the  problem.  If  one  reflects, 
one  will  see  that  there  can  be  no  rule  but  this :  "  Do  what 
you  believe  that  you  ought  to  do."  This  is  the  same  thing 
as  saying,  "Obey  your  conscience." 

Besides,  without  excluding  reflection  from  its  part  in  human 
conduct,  and  without  pretending  that  one  should  await,  like 
Socrates,  the  voice  of  a  familiar  daemon,  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten, that,  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  it  is  not  well  to 
indulge  in  too  much  reasoning.  An  over-subtle  analysis  of 
moral  difficulties,  a  too  curious  investigation  into  the  pros  and 
cons,  is  more  apt  to  obscure  the  conscience  than  to  enlighten 
it.  The  latent  sophistries  of  passion  and  personal  interest 
will  be  able  to  conceal  themselves  under  the  apparent  impar- 
tiality of  a  too  greatly  prolonged  examination ;  and  reason, 
while  thinking  that  it  is  pleading  the  cause  of  wisdom,  is 
often  the  unconscious  advocate  of  our  hidden  weaknesses. 
Another  danger,  too  often  resulting  from  deliberation  in 
moral  affairs,  is  the  discouragement  of  the  will,  leaving  it  in 
suspense  between  the  two  sides  of  the  question,  incapable  of 
choosing  either  one  or  the  other.  Doubtless  one  should  do 
all  in  his  power  to  avoid  acting  under  a  mistake ;  but  still, 
there  is  a  rule  superior  to  this,  which  is,  that  one  must  act. 
Society  has  tribunals  which  judge  in  the  last  resort,  and  from 
which  there  is  no  appeal.  In  practice,  it  is  equally  neces- 
sary to  have  a  judgment  in  the  last  resort  which  is  assumed 
to  be  infallible.  However  perplexing  a  case  may  be,  it  is 
necessary  that  it  should  be  brought  to  an  end.  In  every 
thing  it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be  a  final  decision. 

But,  since  the  individual  conscience  is  the  sole  and  final 
judge  when  it  becomes  necessary  to  act,  does  it  therefore 
follow,  as  the  contemporaneous  English  school  maintains, 
that  there  is  no  moral  truth  outside  of  and  beyond  the  indi- 
vidual conscience  ?     Must  we  believe  that  there  is  no  other 


THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS.  269 

standard  of  good  and  evil  than  the  state  of  the  individual 
conscience  ?  This  question  is  the  one  that  was  discussed  by 
Plato  and  Protagoras:  it  is  the  great  battle-field  on  which 
sceptics  and  dogmatists,  the  defenders  and  the  adversaries  of 
metaphysics,  meet,  and  hold  combat.  I  will  here  consider 
this  question  simply  from  the  stand-point  of  moral  science. 

An  English  philosopher  of  the  positivist  school,  Mr. 
Alexander  Bain,  opposes,  in  a  recent  work,1  the  doctrine  of 
universal  moral  ideas,  and  the  hypothesis  of  an  absolute  con- 
science, the  model  and  type  of  individual  consciences.  He 
specially  attacks  upon  this  point  Dr.  Whewell,  the  organ  of 
the  contrary  opinion. 

Dr.  Whewell  had  spoken  thus  :  — 

"  It  appears  from  what  has  just  been  said,  that  we  cannot  properly  refer 
to  our  conscience  as  an  ultimate  and  supreme  authority.  It  has  only  a 
subordinate  and  intermediate  authority ;  standing  between  the  supreme 
law  and  our  own  actions.  .  .  .  Each  man's  standard  of  morals,  is  a 
standard  of  morals,  only  because  it  is  supposed  to  represent  the  supreme 
standard.  ...  As  each  man  has  his  reason,  in  virtue  of  his  participation 
in  the  common  reason  of  mankind,  so  each  man  has  his  conscience  in 
virtue  of  his  participation  in  the  common  conscience  of  man." 

Mr.  Bain  objects  to  this.  What,  then,  is  this  standard? 
he  asks.  Where  is  it  to  be  found  ?  Let  it  be  produced.  Is 
it  some  one  model  conscience,  like  Aristotle's  "serious 
man"?2  Is  it  the  decision  of  a  public  body,  authorized  to 
decide  for  the  rest  of  the  community?  We  regulate  our 
watches,  the  English  philosopher  says  at  another  time,  by 
the  Greenwich  observatory :  where  is  the  type,  the  measure, 
the  standard,  by  which  each  one  may  set  his  watch  in 
morals  ?  It  is  a  stretch  of  language  to  maintain  the  exist- 
ence of  such  a  thing  as  truth  in  the  abstract  —  that  is  to 
say,  abstracted  from   all  perceiving   or   conceiving  minds. 

1  The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  by  Alexander  Bain,  2d  ed.,  London,  1865.  Mr. 
Bain  is  also  the  author  of  a  remarkable  work,  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect. 

2  In  his  Ethics,  Aristotle,  modifying  the  formula  of  Protagoras,  says;  "  It  is 
the  virtuous  man  who  is  the  measure  of  good  and  of  evil." 


270  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

There  must  be  a  select  number  of  persons,  or  some  one  per- 
son, holding  moral  truths  in  this  typical,  perfect,  absolute 
form.  Let  this  favored  mortal  be  named;  let  him  be  pro- 
duced ;  but  do  not  let  us  hear  any  more  of  an  abstract  con- 
science, floating  in  the  air,  without  a  subject,  and,  as  yet, 
never  perceived  by  any  one. 

This  is  not  the  proper  place  in  which  to  discuss  the  phil- 
osophical problem  of  the  objectivity  of  our  knowledge,  and 
of  the  union  of  the  universal  and  of  the  individual  in  the 
human  reason.  Without  touching  this  question,  let  us  grant 
that  every  judgment  (moral  judgments  being  included)  is 
always  the  act  of  an  individual  spirit  affirming  or  denying, 
approving  or  blaming ;  that  what  is  called  the  truth,  and  is 
laid  down  as  a  rule,  a  law,  a  measure  for  individual  belief, 
is  never  any  thing  more  than  an  abstract  of  what  is  univer- 
sally, or  nearly  universally,  thought  by  individual  reasons, 
including  my  own ;  that  even  when  one  has  reason  to  think 
that  that  to  which  he  adheres  and  which  he  obeys  is  the 
word  of  God,  yet  still  it  is  the  individual  reason  which 
recognizes  this  word  of  God  by  certain  signs  (miracles, 
prophecies,  duration,  moral  character,  etc.)  ;  that  the  reason 
called  impersonal  is  simply  that  which  is  held  in  common  by 
all  individual  reasons ;  that  Aver  roes'  doctrine  of  the  unity 
of  the  intellect1  cannot  possibly  be  accepted,  and  can  hardly 
be  comprehended ;  that  even  if  one  were  to  go  so  far  as  to 
say  with  Malebranche  that  we  see  every  thing  in  God,  it 
would  still  be  each  one  of  us  who  would  read,  as  in  an  open 
book,  the  divine  thought;  finally,  that  in  every  hypothesis 
the  universal  reason,  the  universal  conscience,  is  the  result- 
ant of  what  is  held  in  common  by  every  individual  reason 
and  every  individual  conscience. 

But,  even  if  we  grant  all  these  premises,  I  do  not  see  how 
they  contradict  the  doctrine  of  a  truth  in  itself,  a  morality 
in  itself,  seen  more  or  less  clearly  by  all  individual  reasons, 

1  Averroes  said  that  there  was  but  one  single  intelligence  for  all  mankind. 
See  Renan,  Averroes  et  V Averroisme. 


THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS.  271 

which  approach  each  other  more  closely  in  proportion  as 
they  approach  the  common  aim. 

Each  man,  taken  by  himself,  can  and  should  be  judged 
only  by  his  actual  conscience :  he  even  ought  not  to  act 
except  according  to  this  conscience.  In  this  sense,  it  is 
proper  to  say  that  morality  is  subjective.  But  this  permis- 
sion is  given  to  the  actual  conscience,  only  because  it  is 
supposed  to  be  the  anticipation  and  the  approximate  and 
provisory  presentation  of  an  absolute  conscience,  which 
would  immediately  know  the  true  law,  as  it  is  in  itself.  It 
is  because  the  agent,  while  following  his  conscience  as  it  is 
at  the  moment  for  the  lack  of  a  better,  has  at  heart  the 
intention  of  acting  in  obedience  to  the  absolute  conscience 
(which  he  would  follow  if  he  knew  it)  :  it  is  for  this  reason, 
I  say,  that  this  intention  is  accepted  as  the  fact.  It  is  in 
this  sense  that  Fichte  is  right  in  saying  that  the  only  duty 
is,  to  will  to  act  conformably  to  one's  duty. 

But  it  is  evident  that  this  permitted  assimilation  of  the 
relative  and  individual  conscience  with  the  absolute  con- 
science is  legitimate,  only  on  condition  that  the  agent,  while 
obeying  his  actual  conscience,  shall  constantly  do  all  he  can 
to  enlighten  this  conscience  and  to  come  nearer  to  the  abso- 
lute conscience,  though  he  can  never  entirely  assimilate  the 
two.  For,  if  we  admit  the  principle  that  there  is  nothing 
but  individual  consciences,  I  do  not  see  why  one  should  be 
preferable  to  another.  There  would  even  be  no  apparent 
reason  for  changing  the  moral  state  of  society :  since  all 
consciences  are  of  equal  value,  it  is  better  to  keep  what  one 
has  than  to  change  it  for  another.  At  the  very  utmost, 
consciences  would  be  changed  only  like  tastes. 

Mr.  Bain  admits  but  one  primitive  and  universal  fact  in 
moral  science :  it  is  the  fact  of  approbation  and  disapproba- 
tion. But  does  not  the  very  fact,  that,  among  human  actions, 
there  are  some  of  which  I  approve,  and  others  of  which 
I  disapprove,  show  that  I  have  a  certain  rule  by  which  I 
approve  or  disapprove  ?    Now,  if  we  inquire  what  this  rule  is, 


272  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

we  shall  see  that  it  depends  on  my  comparison  of  my  action, 
or  that  of  other  men,  with  an  ideal  action  which  has,  or  has 
not,  been  accomplished,  but  which  should  be  performed. 
For  instance,  I  have  before  me  an  Ego  who  told  the  truth 
instead  of  lying,  or  bore  an  injury  instead  of  getting  angry. 
If  I  blame  either  myself  or  others,  it  is  because  I  compare 
myself  or  them  with  this  ideal  man  within  my  mind,  and  the 
two  do  not  accord.  I  approve,  on  the  contrary,  when  my 
actions,  or  those  of  other  men,  are  in  harmony  with  this 
ideal  man,  or  differ  but  slightly  from  him ;  and,  if  we  reflect 
that  no  particular  man  was  ever  absolutely  like  this  man  of 
whom  I  have  a  conception  (which  made  the  Stoics  say  that 
there  never  was  a  truly  wise  man,  not  even  Zeno  nor 
Socrates),  it  must  be  admitted  that  we  conceive  the  idea  of 
a  man  in  himself,  distinct  from  every  individual  man,  and  to 
whom  each  one  approaches,  or  from  whom  each  differs,  more 
and  more. 

But  where,  they  say,  will  you  find  this  man  in  himself,  this 
ideal,  this  type  which  never  has  been  and  never  will  be  real- 
ized ?  Is  not  this  a  pure  abstraction  ?  Undoubtedly.  I  am 
far  from  maintaining  the  Platonic  doctrine  of  the  man  in 
himself.  It  is  evidently  experience  which  gives  us  the  ele- 
ments of  this  conception,  but  it  is  also  certain  that  no  indi- 
vidual experience  has  given  the  whole  of  it  to  us.  In  each 
particular  case,  seeing  a  man  who  acts  in  a  certain  way,  I 
imagine  another  who  would  do  better.  Having  seen  this 
one  in  his  turn,  I  imagine  a  third  who  would  do  better  still ; 
and  soon,  familiarizing  myself  with  this  method  of  reason- 
ing, I  conceive  that  every  man,  however  excellent  he  may 
be  supposed  to  be,  may  always  be  conceived  as  inferior  to 
some  other  whom  I  could  imagine.  At  the  end  of  this 
processus,  I  conceive  a  man  whose  excellence  cannot  be  sur- 
passed. It  is  this  double  necessity  of  having  a  moral  type 
or  model  superior  to  each  man  in  particular,  yet  which 
should  not  be  an  empty  abstraction,  which  gave  birth  to  the 
grand  Christian  conception  of  the  God-man.     On  the  one 


THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS.  273 

hand,  none  but  God  can  be  perfect :  on  the  other,  only  man 
can  serve  as  a  model  for  man. 

Mr.  Bain  has  well  represented  the  moral  act  as  a  combat, 
—  the  warfare  of  two  powers.  But,  when  we  speak  of  a 
combat,  that  implies  that  there  is  a  victory  to  be  won,  an 
aim  to  be  pursued.  This  end  is  the  transformation  of  man : 
it  is  the  old  man  sacrificed  to  the  new  man,  the  flesh  to  the 
spirit.  Under  whatever  form  the  moral  conflict  is  repre- 
sented (even  if  we  see  in  good  only  the  ultimate  and  highest 
quintessence  of  personal  interest),  it  must  be  admitted  that 
there  is  always  an  end  superior  to  the  special  sensation  that 
we  may  have  in  a  given  case.  Hence  ifc  is  not  because  we 
approve  or  disapprove  that  there  is  good  and  evil,  but  it  is 
because  there  is  good  and  evil  that  we  approve  or  disapprove. 
We  ought,  then,  to  endeavor  to  adapt  our  approbation  to  the 
nature  of  things,  instead  of  taking  our  approbation  itself  as 
the  ultimate  standard ;  for  approbation  cannot  be  a  reason 
for  itself  to  itself.1 

What  is,  then,  this  ideal,  absolute,  infallible  conscience, 
the  conscience  of  the  human  race,  as  Mr.  Whewell  calls  it? 
It  is  the  conscience  which  sees  immediately,  intuitively,  what 
the  ideal  man  ought  to  do  in  any  supposable  circumstances, 
with  the  same  clearness  and  the  same  certainty  that  we  see 
it  in  special  circumstances.  For  instance,  imagine  a  man  as 
about  to  denounce  calumniously  his  intimate  friend,  doing 
this  without  provocation,  in  order  to  send  him  to  death,  and 
to  enrich  himself  with  spoils  as  informer.  There  is  no  con- 
science which  cannot  see  clearly  what  the  ideal  man  would 
do  under  those  circumstances.  Now,  imagine  a  conscience 
which  could  tell  with  the  same  clearness  what  the  ideal  man 
would  do  under  any  and  all  circumstances,  and  you  will 
have  the  ideal  and  absolute  conscience. 

It  is  certainly  no  more  possible  to  realize  such  a  conscience 

1  Even  if  we  accept  the  principle  of  personal  interest,  it  will  not  be  the 
individual  approbation  which  will  be  the  measure ;  for  experience  proves  that 
one  may  be  mistaken,  even  in  regard  to  his  own  interest. 


274  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

in  practice,  than  it  would  be  to  produce  the  absolute  type  to 
which  it  answers.  Just  as  there  is  no  perfect  man,  so  there 
is  no  perfect  conscience.  But  this  conscience,  which  does 
not  exist  in  a  real  and  actual  state,  does  exist  in  the  state  of 
tendency.  It  is  the  effort  which  humanity  makes  to  attain 
this  state  of  perfect  conscience  which  serves  to  free  it  pro- 
gressively from  the  errors  and  illusions  of  the  imperfect 
conscience.  It  is  the  idea,  as  the  Hegelians  say,  which  suc- 
cessively breaks  the  inferior  forms  to  attain  the  superior 
form :  it  is  "  the  immanent  end,"  to  use  another  formula, 
dear  to  the  same  school.  If  we  do  not  admit  something  of 
this  sort,  no  conscience  can  be  regarded  as  superior  to  any 
other  conscience :  and  from  thenceforth  there  will  be  no 
more  moral  progress,  not  only  for  the  species,  but  even  for 
the  individual ;  for  why  should  I  prefer  my  conscience  of 
to-day  to  that  of  yesterday,  and  why  should  I  make  any  effort 
to  attain  a  higher  degree  of  conscience?  In  a  word,  why 
should  I  try  to  perfect  myself?  Every  degree  of  moral  per- 
fection is  a  perfecting  of  conscience :  it  is  not  merely  obedi- 
ence to  cod  science  which  is  a  duty ;  it  is  a  duty  to  render 
one's  conscience  more  and  more  delicate  and  exacting,  and 
there  would  be  no  sense  in  this  if  every  conscience  were  of 
equal  value.  Now,  we  cannot  establish  degrees  of  compari- 
son between  consciences,  except  as  we  compare  them  with  a 
typical  conscience,  toward  which  we  rise  continually,  but 
which  we  never  attain,  and  which,  though  itself  latent,  is, 
nevertheless,  the  principal  motor  of  moral  activity. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MORAL  INTENTION. 

rj^HE  theory  of  intention,  which  deserves  further  study,  is 
-*-    closely  connected  with  that  of  the  moral  consciousness. 
It  has  given  rise  to  numerous  and  perplexing  difficulties. 
Let  us  first  distinguish  the  different  meanings  of  the  word. 

One  has  the  intention  to  do  a  thing ;  one  does  it  intention- 
ally ;  one  does  it,  finally,  with  a  certain  intention.  In  these 
three  cases,  the  same  words  express  quite  different  shades 
of  ideas.  For  instance,  to  intend  to  do  a  thing  is  to  have 
such  a  project,  or  such  an  idea :  it  is  to  imagine  the  thing 
as  done,  and  wish  to  do  it,  yet  without  being  fully  decided. 
Thus  understood,  intention  is  a  semi-resolution,  a  semi-will. 
Frequently,  in  fact,  in  common  parlance  the  will  is  confounded 
with  the  intention  of  doing  a  thing.  I  propose  to  myself 
that  I  will  sooner  or  later  take  a  wise  course ;  but,  so  long  as 
I  do  not  take  it,  it  is  the  same  as  if  I  had  no  such  intention. 
This  is  why  it  is  commonly  said,  "  Hell  is  paved  with  good 
intentions."  The  intention  is  an  incomplete  volition :  it  is, 
so  to  speak,  a  velleity,  but  not  a  firm  and  decisive  act  of  the 
will.  When  it  is  said,  "The  intention  should  be  accepted 
for  the  act,"  the  maxim  will  be  true  or  false  according  to 
the  meaning  which  is  given  to  the  word  intention  ;  for,  if  by 
intention  is  meant  simply  a  vague  velleity  which  never  mani- 
fests itself  in  acts,  the  intention  cannot  possibly  be  accepted 
for  the  act.  If,  on  the  contrary,  by  intention  is  meant  the 
voluntary  act  itself — that  is,  a  resolution  taken  which  has 
been  revealed  only  by  the  event  —  the  maxim  is  then  true ; 
but  this  would  be  extending  too  far  the  meaning  of  the  word. 

275 


276  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

In  the  second  case,  to  perform  an  act  intentionally  is  to 
accomplish  this  act,  knowing  that  one  accomplishes  it,  and 
wishing  to  do  so  ;  it  is  performing  it  with  consciousness  and 
reflection,  with  a  knowledge  of  the  reason ;  it  is,  moreover, 
to  have  proposed  to  one's  self  the  accomplishment  of  that 
very  act,  to  have  chosen  it,  to  have  given  it  the  preference 
over  every  other,  to  have  consented  to  it,  and  to  have  accepted 
it  with  all  its  consequences.  This  is  why  the  intention  is  an 
essential  part  of  responsibility.  When  we  wish  to  exculpate 
ourselves  from  an  act  which  has  had  unpleasant  consequences, 
we  say  that  we  did  not  do  it  intentionally :  familiarly,  we 
did  not  mean  to  do  it.  He  who  has  done  good  unintention- 
ally is  no  more  praiseworthy  than  he  who  has  done  evil 
unintentionally  is  culpable.  The  law  recognizes  this  dis- 
tinction ;  and,  if  in  some  cases  it  punishes  a  homicide  com- 
mitted through  imprudence,  this  is  because  the  imprudence 
is  not  always  unintentional;  and,  moreover,  even  if  there 
is  no  blame,  he  who  has  done  the  evil  should  always  repair 
the  damage. 

Finally,  an  act  may  be  performed  with  a  certain  intention : 
in  this  case,  the  intention  is  synonymous  with  the  aim.  To 
act  intentionally  is  to  act  in  reference  to  an  aim :  it  is  to 
propose  to  one's  self  some  definite  object.  One  may  learn 
to  make  weapons,  either  with  the  intention  of  exercising  his 
body,  or  with  the  intention  of  making  use  of  them.  One 
may  take  care  of  his  health  with  the  intention  of  enjoying 
life  better,  or  with  the  intention  of  being  better  able  to  per- 
form one's  duties.  Thus,  in  the  latter  case,  the  intention 
means  principally  the  motive  of  the  act;  in  the  first,  the 
project  of  the  act,  and  in  the  second  the  consent  to  the  act. 
In  whatever  sense  it  is  used,  the  word  intention  always  im- 
plies, more  or  less  distinctly,  the  idea  of  an  aim  (tendere  in)  ; 
and  it  is  the  nature  of  this  aim  which  gives  to  the  act  its 
moral  character. 

Here  arises  a  moral  difficulty  of  the  gravest  importance. 
Is  it  the  intention  which  constitutes  the  morality  of  the  act  ? 


MORAL  INTENTION.  277 

If  not,  then  one  would  be  responsible  for  an  act  done  unin- 
tentionally :  one  would  not  have  the  benefit  of  a  good  inten- 
tion more  or  less  assisted  by  circumstances.  If  it  is,  then  a 
good  intention  is  a  sufficient  justification  for  a  bad  action  : 
it  will  be  enough,  as  has  been  said,  to  direct  one's  intention 
toward  good;  and  evil  will  then  become  good.  In  other 
words,  we  should  soon  reach  that  principle,  the  danger  of 
which  is  well  known ;  "  The  end  justifies  the  means." 

It  seems  impossible,  on  the  one  hand,  to  renounce  the 
principle  that  the  intention  makes  the  morality  of  the  act ; 
and,  on  the  other,  it  is  impossible  to  admit  that  other  prin- 
ciple that  the  end  justifies  the  means.  It  cannot  be,  then, 
that  the  second  principle  results  logically  from  the  first;  and 
the  difficulty  is  to  disentangle  them. 

I  have  already  distinguished  between  the  two  expressions  — 
to  act  intentionally  (avec  intention),  and  to  act  with  a  certain 
intention  (dans  une  certaine  intention).  Is  there  not  here 
a  distinguishing  element  which  will  aid  us  to  solve  the  pro- 
posed problem  ?  Unquestionably,  in  order  that  an  act  may 
be  good  or  evil,  it  must  have  been  done  intentionally :  noth- 
ing which  is  accomplished  by  chance,  unconsciously,  without 
desiring  it,  under  constraint,  contrary  to  our  intentions,  can 
be  imputed  to  us.  Only  that  which  we  have  expressly 
desired  can  belong  to  us  morally.  In  this  sense  the  charac- 
ter of  the  act  depends  upon  the  intention. 

But  when  I  perform  an  act,  not  only  intentionally,  but  with 
a  certain  intention,  there  is  something  more.  It  is  not 
merely  this  act  which  I  desire,  but  another  also:  I  desire 
the  first  only  for  the  sake  of  the  second,  only  as  a  means  of 
reaching  the  second.  The  second  is  the  reason,  the  aim  of 
the  first.  I  intend  both ;  for  this  reason  I  am  responsible 
for  both;  but  I  desire  the  first  only  with  the  intention  of 
attaining  the  second.  I  have,  in  a  certain  sense,  a  double 
intention ;  two  intentions,  subordinate  one  to  the  other ;  in 
a  certain  sense,  two  subordinate  wills.  It  is  in  this  sense 
that  the  theologians  speak  of  God  as  having  two  kinds  of 
wills  —  an  antecedent  and  a  consequent  will. 


278  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

The  question  then  presents  itself  in  this  form :  if  we  must 
admit  in  a  general  way  that  the  moral  character  of  an  act 
comes  from  the  intention  which  accompanies  it,  does  it  fol- 
low, that,  when  there  is  a  double  intention,  it  is  the  second  of 
these  which  gives  moral  character  to  the  first  ?  that  of  two 
given  acts,  the  first  of  which  is  only  a  means  for  attaining 
the  second,  it  is  the  second  which  gives  to  the  first  its  moral 
character?  Such  a  result  is  by  no  means  involved  in  the 
principle. 

In  the  first  case,  only  one  action  is  really  in  question.  It 
is  this  act,  which,  to  become  imputable,  must  be  done  inten- 
tionally. But  this  intention  does  not  arise  from  the  act;  it 
is  the  act  itself  which  is  an  end ;  and  it  is  precisely  in  pro- 
portion as  I  desire  this  act,  and  not  another,  that  I  am  virtu- 
ous or  culpable.  In  the  second  case,  on  the  contrary,  there 
are  two  acts.  That  which  I  expressly  desire  is  the  second, 
not  the  first :  I  only  perform  the  first  because  it  is  necessary 
to  the  accomplishment  of  the  second.  The  point  is,  to  decide 
whether  an  act  which  is  bad  in  itself  can  become  good,  or 
at  least  indifferent,  if  it  is  the  means  of  accomplishing 
another  act  which  we  judge  to  be  good.  It  is  plain  that  this 
second  case  is  not  at  all  similar  to  the  first. 

Some  may  persist,  and  may  say  that  this  distinction  is  not 
sufficient.  In  order  that  an  act  may  acquire  a  moral  char- 
acter, it  is  not  enough  that  it  should  be  done  intentionally : 
it  must  be  done  with  a  certain  intention.  It  is  not  enough, 
indeed,  that  I  should  desire  a  certain  act,  but  I  should  desire 
it  because  it  is  a  good  and  obligatory  act.  It  is  necessary, 
Kant  says,  not  only  that  my  act  should  be  in  conformity  with 
duty,  but  that  it  should  be  performed  for  the  sake  of  duty. 
The  same  act  may  be  good  or  evil  according  as  it  is  per- 
formed for  the  sake  of  duty  or  for  self-interest.  It  is  the 
maxim  of  the  action,  says  Kant  again,  in  other  words,  its 
motive,  which  determines  its  morality.  It  is  in  vain  that  I 
expressly  desire  such  or  such  an  act,  as  children  or  savages 
desire  it :  my  act  remains  innocent,  indifferent,  neither  moral 


MORAL  INTENTION.  279 

nor  immoral,  so  long  as  I  have  not  apprehended  the  idea  of 
duty,  of  law,  of  an  aim  to  be  followed.  So  soon  as  this  idea 
arises,  morality  is  born  with  it ;  and  according  as  I  do,  or  do 
not,  desire  to  conform  to  it,  I  am  virtuous  or  culpable. 
Hence  it  follows  that  the  morality  of  my  act  is  due,  not  to 
my  intention  of  doing  it,  but  to  the  intention  with  which  I  do 
it.  In  other  words,  we  have  here,  as  in  the  second  case 
previously  cited,  two  intentions  — the  intention  of  performing 
the  act,  and  the  intention  of  obeying  the  call  of  duty  or  of 
interest.  Thus  the  same  act  may  be  good  or  evil  according 
to  the  end  which  one  has  in  mind,  from  which  it  seems  to 
result  that  the  end  justifies  the  means. 

The  difficulty  is,  then,  even  greater  than  we  had  supposed ; 
since,  whichever  way  we  turn,  it  is  the  end  which  gives  char- 
acter to  the  action.  A  certain  action,  even  an  intentional 
one,  is  indifferent  if  I  have  no  other  end  but  itself;  it  be- 
comes good  if,  in  performing  it,  I  have  as  my  end  the  fulfil- 
ing  of  my  duty ;  and  it  is  evil  if  I  do  it  with  any  other  end. 
Might  we  not  say  by  analogy,  that  a  certain  action,  indif- 
ferent in  itself,  becomes  good  if  I  perform  it  in  view  of  a 
certain  duty,  and  evil  if  I  perform  it  from  any  other  motive  ? 
For  instance,  the  act  of  killing  might  be  blamable  if  it  were 
accompanied  by  hatred,  by  selfishness,  by  the  spirit  of  re- 
venge, or  of  cupidity ;  but  if  I  perform  it  to  serve  my  country 
(by  delivering  it  from  a  tyrant),  to  serve  God  (in  defend- 
ing the  true  faith),  to  render  service  to  a  friend  (by  pre- 
serving him  from  a  traitor),  this  action  might  become  good. 
Thus  people  have  been  led  to  justify  political  and  religious 
assassinations,  and  even  private  assassination.  And  yet 
apparently  nothing  more  is  done  than  to  apply  Kant's 
rule  —  that  is,  that  an  act  which  is  morally  good  is  one 
that  is  performed  for  the  sake  of  duty ;  that  is,  in  view  of  a 
duty. 

In  spite  of  all  this,  I  still  maintain  that  the  solution  of  the 
difficulty  lies  in  the  distinction  which  I  have  made  above. 
In  fact,  an  action  is  completely  intentional  only  when  we 


280  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

choose  it  and  wish  it  with  all  its  characteristics;  that  is  to 
say,  with  a  full  consciousness  of  its  moral  value.  Otherwise, 
we  may  always  say  of  a  moral  agent  what  Jesus  Christ  said 
of  his  executioners :  "  They  know  not  what  they  do."  To 
know  what  one  does,  it  is  necessary,  not  only  to  choose  a 
certain  act,  but  to  choose  it  knowing  that  it  is  good  or  evil, 
and  to  perform  it  so  far  as  one  believes  it  to  be  good,  or 
although  one  knows  it  to  be  evil.  And  this  is  precisely 
what  I  mean  by  acting  intentionally  (avec  intention).  But, 
in  such  a  case,  the  goodness  of  the  act  is  a  character  intrin- 
sic in  itself:  the  act  is  good  or  evil  in  itself,  and  not  as  a 
means  of  attaining  some  other  thing.  When  I  say  that  I 
perform  an  act  for  the  sake  of  duty,  I  do  not  mean  that  the 
duty  is  an  aim  exterior  to  the  act,  some  other  act,  different 
from  the  one  in  question,  some  consequence  of  my  action ; 
for  the  essential  characteristic  of  duty,  as  Kant  has  shown, 
is,  that  it  is  not  the  means  of  attaining  some  end.  An  obliga- 
tory action  is  one  which  is  good  in  and  by  itself.  It  is  one 
thing  to  perform  an  act  because  it  is  a  duty  (which  is  what 
Kant  means),  and  another  to  perform  an  act  in  view  of  some 
duty  other  than  itself. 

According  to  the  maxim  that  the  end  justifies  the  means, 
no  act  would  be  good  or  evil  in  itself:  it  would  become  so 
only  as  a  means  of  attaining  a  good  or  evil  end.  Now,  Kant 
has  especially  remarked  —  and  this  is  the  most  original  part 
of  his  analysis  of  duty  —  that  duty  commands  us  to  perform 
an  act  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  that  we  may  attain  a  certain 
aim,  even  were  this  aim  itself  good  and  legitimate.  The 
maxim  that  the  end  justifies  the  means,  seems,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  destroy  the  very  idea  of  duty.  For  if  every  action 
is  indifferent  in  itself,  and  has  no  value  except  as  it  contrib- 
utes toward  some  other  action,  it  may  be  said  of  the  latter 
also  that,  in  itself,  it  is  neither  good  nor  evil,  but  that  it,  in 
its  turn,  has  no  value  except  as  it  contributes  toward  some 
other  end  still  farther  removed ;  and  thus,  passing  from 
.action  to  action,  no  one  being  considered  as  good  or  evil  in 


MORAL  INTENTION.  281 

itself,  nothing  is  left  upon  which  to  found  the  principle  of 
morality. 

In  truth,  if  one  who  performs  a  bad  action  to  attain  a 
noble  end  deceives  himself,  and  believes  this  action  good,  he 
may  be  excused  in  this  case,  as  in  all  similar  ones,  in  virtue 
of  the  principle  that  invincible  ignorance  is  an  excuse ;  but 
we  are  not  speaking  of  a  case  like  this.  The  question  is, 
whether,  when  we  know  distinctly  that  an  action  is  evil  — 
as,  for  instance,  the  act  of  killing  any  one  treacherously  — 
we  have,  nevertheless,  the  right  to  perform  this  act  because 
the  end  for  which  we  permit  ourselves  to  do  it  is  good.  It 
is  in  this  well-defined  case  that  I  hold,  with  the  general  con- 
science, that  an  action  which  is  evil  in  itself  does  not  change 
its  character  because  it  procures  happy  results,  not  only  for 
ourselves,  but  even  for  our  fellow-creatures. 

Undoubtedly  there  are,  as  we  have  seen,  cases  of  conflict 
between  our  different  duties;  and  some  of  those  conflicts 
raise  questions  which  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  answer. 
But  if  a  man,  hesitating  between  two  imperative  duties,  and 
able  to  fulfil  but  one,  being,  moreover,  forced  to  act,  and  not 
able  to  take  refuge  in  abstaining  from  action — if  this  man,  I 
say,  in  such  a  situation,  ought  to  perform  that  one  of  the  two 
duties  which  his  conscience  tells  him  is  the  more  important, 
must  we  therefore  conclude,  that,  in  all  circumstances,  any 
duty  whatever  may  be  sacrificed  to  some  other  duty,  which 
was  previously  judged  to  be  superior  ?  must  we  accept,  as  a 
moral  rule,  the  principle  that  the  end  justifies  the  means  ? 

But  we  must  not  attempt  to  avoid  this  new  difficulty 
which  presents  itself.  As  we  have  seen,  there  is  certainly  a 
comparative  scale  of  duties:  as  Fe*nelon  has  said,  we  owe 
more  to  humanity  than  to  our  own  country,  more  to  our 
country  than  to  our  family,  more  to  our  family  than  to  our 
friends,  more  to  our  friends  than  to  ourselves;  and,  within 
ourselves,  we  owe  more  to  the  soul  than  to  the  body,  and 
more  to  the  body  as  a  whole  than  to  each  one  of  its  parts. 
Thus  amputation  becomes  legitimate  if  it  serves  to  preserve 


282  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  body;  thus  the  sacrifice  of  life  is  legitimate,  if  other- 
wise we  must  lose  our  honor ;  thus  we  ought  to  sacrifice,  if 
not  our  moral  dignity,  at  least  our  life  and  our  property,  for 
our  family  and  our  country ;  we  should  sacrifice  the  property, 
and  even  the  lives,  of  our  children,  for  the  salvation  of  our 
country :  and,  if  we  do  not  say  that  it  is  our  duty  to  sacrifice 
our  country  for  humanity,  it  is  only  because  it  is  difficult  to 
imagine  a  case  in  which  the  salvation  of  our  country  would 
be  contrary  to  the  good  of  humanity  in  general ;  but  it  is 
most  certain,  that  we  ought  not  to  procure  happiness  for  our 
country  at  the  expense  of  humanity. 

In  whatever  way  we  may  understand  the  comparative 
scale  of  duties,  there  certainly  is  such  a  scale.  But  then, 
must  we  not  admit,  that,  when  we  are  compelled  to  sacrifice 
an  inferior  duty  to  one  that  is  superior,  we  act  by  implica- 
tion on  the  principle  that  "  the  end  justifies  the  means  "  ? 
For  to  send  one's  son  to  death  is  certainly  a  crime,  but  to 
send  him  to  death  for  the  salvation  of  one's  country  is  cer- 
tainly a  good  action.  It  is,  however,  the  same  action  in  both 
cases  :  where  is  the  difference  ?  In  the  intention,  in  the  aim. 
To  risk  one's  health  is  a  fault;  but  to  risk  it,  or  even  to 
destroy  it,  for  the  good  of  men,  is  an  heroic  action.  Where 
lies  the  difference  between  these  actions,  approved  and 
admired  by  the  public  conscience,  and  those  other  actions 
which  it  justly  blames  —  to  kill  a  tyrant  to  deliver  one's 
country,  to  flatter  and  cringe  to  enrich  one's  family,  to 
deceive  men  to  make  them  happy? 

We  have  seen,  in  one  of  the  preceding  chapters,  the  rules 
which  should  be  observed  in  forming  a  scale  and  standard  of 
duties.  It  is  evident,  that,  when  once  this  order  is  estab- 
lished, we  shall  be  obliged  to  prefer  one  duty  to  another; 
and  it  is  impossible  to  escape  this  necessity.  In  a  case  in 
which  the  public  conscience  does  not  admit  the  sacrifice,  it 
is  because  it  declares  —  rightly  or  wrongly  —  that  the  duty 
violated  is  more  sacred  than  that  to  which  it  is  sacrificed. 
This  principle,  then,  can  never  be  actually  contested :  that 


MORAL  INTENTION.  283 

in  the  case  of  two  conflicting  duties,  one  of  the  two  being 
necessarily  sacrificed,  it  is  the  lesser  which  must  yield  to  the 
greater.  For  instance,  who  will  deny  that  a  duty  of  polite- 
ness should  yield  to  a  duty  of  humanity  ?  Where,  then,  is 
the  limit  ?  and  must  we  consent  to  admit  that  a  good  inten- 
tion authorizes  a  bad  action  —  that  the  end  justifies  the 
means  ? 

There  is,  first,  a  case  in  which  it  is  easy  to  answer  and  to 
reject  this  maxim.  This  is  when  one  has  been  led  into  a  cer- 
tain action  by  some  odious  or  contemptible  motive,  and  seeks 
to  satisfy  one's  self  by  persuading  one's  self  that  one  is  pur- 
suing a  noble  and  exalted  aim.  Cases  like  these  are  those 
directions  of  intentions,  justified  by  some  casuists,  which  Pas- 
cal has  so  justly  and  scathingly  condemned.  For  instance, 
John  the  Fearless  caused  the  assassination  of  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  evidently  at  the  instigation  of  an  insatiable  ambi- 
tion: he  attempted  to  justify  his  crime  by  the  pretext  of  the 
public  good,  and  made  one  of  his  partisans  apologize  for  it 
by  appealing  to  the  principle  that  it  is  permissible  to  kill  a 
rebellious  vassal.  Nero  had  his  mother  assassinated,  evi- 
dently led  by  a  natural  ferocity  which  no  human  sentiment 
could  ameliorate :  he  justified  this  abominable  crime  by  at- 
tributing it  to  reasons  of  state.  People  humiliate  themselves 
to  obtain  high  positions;  but  they  say,  and  make  others  say, 
that  it  is  to  serve  their  country.  People  deceive,  they 
insinuate  themselves  into  families,  they  get  possession  of 
others'  property,  from  a  spirit  of  domination  and  cupidity ; 
but  they  persuade  themselves,  and  try  to  persuade  others, 
that  it  is  for  the  love  of  God.  Others  give  themselves  up 
to  all  sorts  of  prodigality,  through  love  of  pleasure  and 
luxury;  and  they  pretend  to  believe  that  it  is  through 
grandeur  of  soul,  and  to  show  their  contempt  for  riches. 
In  a  word,  the  art  of  giving  one's  conscience  an  accommo- 
dating bias,  of  giving  a  good  appearance  to  bad  actions,  and 
of  purifying  impurity  by  sanctimonious  calculations,  or  by 
fine-sounding  apologies,  is  an  odious  art,  which  can  in  no 


284  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

way  embarrass  the  moralist,  and  in  answer  to  which  it  is 
sufficient  to  refer  to  the  admirable  pages  of  Pascal.1 

There  is  still  another  case  in  which  there  is  an  evident 
abuse  of  the  principle  that  the  morality  of  an  act  lies  in  its 
intention.  It  is  when  a  very  simple,  very  clear,  and  very 
necessary,  duty  is  sacrificed  to  one  that  is  vague,  and  more 
or  less  uncertain.  The  human  conscience  is  revolted  by  this 
abuse,  though  it  cannot  clearly  explain  in  what  it  consists. 
Here  the  sophistry  lies  in  believing  that  love  of  good  in 
general  is  sufficient  to  excuse  a  notoriously  bad  action.  For 
instance,  what  duty  can  be  more  plain  and  simple  than  that 
which  forbids  assassination  —  that  is  to  say,  the  treacherous 
murder  of  a  defenceless  man  who  has  not  attacked  you? 
In  this  case,  I  say,  the  duty  of  not  assailing  human  life  is 
one  of  the  clearest  in  the  world.  On  the  contrary,  the  duty 
of  saving  one's  country,  however  obligatory  it  may  be,  is  far 
from  being  equally  clear  and  simple.     There  are  a  thousand 

1  Connected  with  the  theory  of  the  directions  of  intention  is  that  of  mental 
reservations,  also  ridiculed  and  brought  to  shame  by  Pascal.  Two  kinds  of 
this  are  distinguished. 

First,  The  purely  mental  reservation.  Second,  The  reservation  which  is 
not  purely  mental — pure  mentalis,  nonpure  mentalis.  The  latter  ?.s  that  which 
may  be  recognized  by  certain  exterior  signs.  It  is  your  business  to  attend 
to  these  signs.  In  accordance  with  these  principles,  Father  Ligori  permits 
mental  reservation  in  the  following  cases :  — 

1.  A  confessor,  asked  whether  he  has  knowledge  of  a  certain  crime,  may 
answer  on  oath,  "No,"  mentally  adding,  "not  as  a  man  ; "  for  no  one  has  a 
right  to  question  him  as  a  confessor.  This  holds  true,  even  when  the  judge 
asks  the  question  specifically,  and  mentions  the  act  of  knowing  as  a  minister 
of  God;  for  he  has  not  the  right  to  ask  this  question.  2.  A  person  accused,  or 
a  witness  if  interrogated  by  an  illegal  authority,  has  a  right  to  deny  knowl- 
edge of  a  crime  of  which  he  actually  knows,  with  the  mental  reservation, 
Crimen  de  quo  legitime  possit  inquiri.  3.  One  who  has  received  a  loan,  and  has 
returned  it,  has  the  right  to  deny  that  he  received  it,  making  the  mental  reser- 
vation, Ita  ut  debeat  solvere.  4.  If  he  has  been  forced  by  constraint  to  contract 
marriage,  he  has  a  right  to  say  that  he  has  not  contracted  it,  with  the  mental 
reservation,  freely.  5.  If  asked  by  a  judge  whether  one  has  spoken  with  an 
accused  person,  one  may  deny  it,  adding  mentally,  Ad  co-operandum  crimini. 
6.  An  adulteress,  asked  whether  she  has  had  illicit  intercourse  with  a  certain 
man,  may  say,  "I  am  innocent  of  this  sin,"  meaning  mentally  that  she  has 
been  purified  from  it  by  confession.  7.  A  servant,  asked  if  his  master  is  at 
home,  may  say  that  he  is  not  there,  although  he  is  (mentally  adding,  In  hac 


MORAL  INTENTION.  285 

ways  of  saving  one's  country :  nothing  can  be  more  uncer- 
tain than  the  way  proposed.  An  inviolable  respect  for 
human  life  is  a  much  surer  way  of  serving  one's  country 
than  to  give  it  the  example  of  homicide.  Without  accept- 
ing literally  the  distinction  between  definite  and  indefinite 
duties  which  I  have  already  combated,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  some  duties  present  themselves  under  a  stricter  and 
more  definite  form  than  do  others,  and  that  they  are  there- 
fore clearer.  To  sacrifice  these  clear  and  definite  duties  to 
others  whose  application  is  freer  and  more  uncertain,  is 
to  break  the  rules  of  a  good  moral  responsibility. 

It  is  also  an  error,  and  a  false  application  of  a  true  princi- 
ple, if  we  reverse  the  order  of  the  importance  of  our  duties. 
For  instance,  to  lie,  deceive,  flatter,  violate  one's  oaths,  and 
be  false  to  one's  opinions,  in  order  to  be  of  use  to  one's 
family,  cannot  be  morally  justified;  because  personal  dignity, 
or  what  is  generally  called  honor,  is  of  an  order  which  is 

janua  vel  fenestra),  or  that  he  has  gone  out,  meaning  that  he  went  in  the 
morning,  or  the  day  before.  8.  Is  it  permissible  to  swear  to  something  false, 
adding  in  a  low  voice  some  true  circumstance  ?  Yes,  some  say  without  restric- 
tion. Yes,  others  say  also  ;  but  it  must  be  done  in  such  a  way  that  others  can 
hear  something,  although  they  cannot  distinguish  the  sense. 

All  this  strange  philosophy  is  to  be  condemned,  not  so  much  on  account  of 
the  laxity  which  it  might  authorize  —  for  we  know  that  in  practice  we  must 
grant  much  to  human  weakness  —  but  the  miserable  feature  of  it,  which 
proves  a  great  poverty  of  conscience,  is  the  artificial  effort  which  it  makes  to 
bring  under  the  rule,  by  the  aid  of  certain  mechanical  processes,  that  which 
is  contrary  to  it.    It  must  be  confessed  that  here  secular  morality  is  superior 

—  I  will  not  say  to  Christian  morality,  for  this  cannot  be  called  Christian,  but 

—  to  theological  and  monastic  morality,  which,  in  the  bareness  of  the  cloisters, 
loses  all  feeling  of  dignity  and  of  virility.  If  a  man  like  Montaigne,  or  any 
other  man  of  the  world,  frankly  admits  his  weaknesses,  and  boldly  yields  to 
them  while  confessing  them,  I  can  excuse,  while  I  blame,  him.  But  these 
shabby  makeshifts,  which  attempt  to  dissimulate  evil,  and  which  try  to  render 
lawful  that  which  is  not  so,  rouse  the  just  anger  of  the  secular  conscience. 
Here  the  world  and  the  cloister  are,  in  comparison  with  each  other,  like  a 
frank  and  generous  rake,  and  a  crafty  hypocrite  who  observes  all  conventional 
forms.  A  moral  education  guided  by  such  principles  as  these  could  only 
degrade  souls.  In  reading  these  pages,  one  thanks  Pascal,  and  one  under- 
stands how  in  his  last  days  he  could  reply,  when  asked  if  he  repented  of 
having  written  his  Provincial  Letters,  "  If  I  were  to  write  them  again,  I  would  ' 
make  them  more  forcible." 


286  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

superior  to  material  goods.  The  family  has  no  right  to  wish 
for  its  own  happiness  at  the  expense  of  the  honor  of  its 
head.  This  is  especially  true  if  merely  grandeur,  luxury,  and 
external  brilliance  are  in  question;  for  these  things,  while 
not  rejected  by  the  wise  man,  should  not  be  sought  for  by 
him,  even  innocently,  still  less  by  evil  means.  At  the  very 
utmost,  if  there  were  a  question  of  saving  one's  children 
from  death  or  destitution,  there  might  be  extenuating  causes, 
or  circumstances,  according  to  the  case.  But  the  moralist 
cannot  consider  the  exceptions,  but  only  the  rules ;  and  the 
rule  is,  that  the  goods  of  the  soul,  being  superior  to  the  goods 
of  the  body,  should  never  be  sacrificed  to  them. 

Moreover,  in  most  of  the  cases  in  which  the  maxim  that 
the  end  justifies  the  means  has  been  so  employed  as  to  be  an 
abuse,  it  will  be  seen,  that,  under  pretence  of  sacrificing  a 
lower  to  a  higher  duty,  the  very  duty  to  which  the  first  is 
sacrificed  is  itself  practically  nullified.  Take,  for  instance, 
the  act  of  running  up  debts  which  one  does  not  pay,  so  that 
one  may  spend  the  money  in  charity.  This  act  is  evidently 
self-contradictory :  for,  in  order  to  assist  one  person,  one 
plunders  another;  consequently  the  act  tends  to  produce 
the  very  evil  which  it  is  attempted  to  relieve.  Take,  again, 
the  question  of  tyrannicide,  so  much  debated  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  He  who  kills  a  tyrant  by  his  own  private  authority 
performs  an  act  of  precisely  the  same  nature  as  that  for  which 
he  blames  the  tyrant ;  that  is,  killing  without  trial,  and  on 
pretence  of  public  necessity.  By  this  very  act,  he  justifies 
the  tyrant  in  similar  ones;  for,  if  the  citizen-subject  may 
decide  on  his  private  authority  that  a  certain  person  is  a 
tyrant,  the  sovereign  may  also  decide  by  his  own  private 
authority  that  a  certain  person  might  become  a  tyrant. 
Thus  assassination  is  established  as  a  principle ;  and  it  will 
be  thus,  whether  the  example  is  given  by  the  sovereign  or 
by  the  people.  The  assassination  of  the  Duke  of  Guise 
.resulted  in  the  assassination  of  Henry  III. ;  so,  too,  the 
assassination  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  by  John  the  Fearless, 


MORAL  INTENTION.  287 

led  to  the  assassination  of  John  the  Fearless  by  Tanneguy. 
The  death  of  Caesar  led  to  the  death  of  Cicero.  From  one 
act  of  revenge  to  another,  society  floated  in  a  sea  of  blood. 
To  take  a  less  tragic  instance,  consider  the  unscrupulous  man 
of  business,  who  does  not  adopt  vulgar  methods,  but  who 
enriches  himself  in  a  way  which  is  far  from  being  in  con- 
formity with  the  old  and  strict  laws  of  commercial  honor.  He 
will  justify  himself  by  saying,  that,  by  his  speculations,  which 
are,  indeed,  irregular,  he  has  rendered  a  great  service  to  his 
country  by  producing  great  activity  in  business,  by  stimu- 
lating energy  and  activity,  and  consequently  developing 
public  prosperity.  But  such  a  justification  is  absurd:  for, 
in  violating  the  laws  of  honesty,  he  assails  the  vital  principle 
of  all  healthy  trade ;  and,  in  thus  giving  a  temporary  impulse 
to  activity,  he  insures  ruinous  disaster.  Thus  the  end  does 
not  justify  the  means,  but  the  means  destroy  the  end  itself. 
Take  another  example.  Under  the  influence  of  religious 
fanaticism,  men  have  immolated  to  the  true  religion  those 
who  opposed  it :  this  was  said  to  be  done  for  the  glory  of 
God.  But,  in  acting  thus,  religion  itself  is  destroyed ;  for 
a  God  who  could  delight  in  these  bloody  sacrifices,  and  who 
could  be  pleased  by  the  shedding  of  blood,  would  not  be  the 
good  and  just  God  whom  religion  commands  us  to  love  and 
adore.  He  would  be  a  wicked  and  sanguinary  deity,  who 
would  not  deserve  to  be  honored,  and  to  whom  the  wise 
man  would  owe  no  worship ;  for  he  could  say  to  himself,  "  I 
am  better  than  such  a  god."  Moreover,  to  make  use  of  con- 
straint and  the  fear  of  death  to  compel  the  acceptance  of 
religion,  is  to  destroy  religion,  because  its  first  requisite  is 
that  it  should  be  received  in  the  heart.  Compulsory  worship 
is  not  true  worship :  still  less  is  hypocrisy,  which  is  the  ordi- 
nary result  of  violence.  Take  another  example.  Certain 
illustrious  men,  some  blinded  by  ambition,  others  led  astray, 
perhaps,  by  false  principles,  have  fancied  that  it  was  right 
for  them  to  bear  arms  against  their  own  country.  This  was 
the  case  with  the  great  Condd  and  with  Gen.  Moreau.     In 


288  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

this  case  the  sophistry  is  clear ;  for,  in  this  case,  one  endan- 
gers the  independence  of  his  country  in  order  to  save  it,  and 
consequently  ruins  it  in  saving  it.  For,  even  supposing  that 
one  could  thus  render  it  material  service,  its  honor  would  be 
tarnished ;  and  this  is  but  another  way  of  ruining  it.1 

As  to  the  examples  which  are,  or  might  be,  cited  to  justify 
the  maxim  in  question,  they  are  always  taken  from  certain 
duties  which  imply  special  conditions,  and  are  duties  only 
under  those  conditions.  Take,  for  instance,  the  duty  of 
economy.  It  is  clear  that  economy  is  not  the  same  as  saving, 
and  does  not  consist  in  denying  one's  self  all  expenditure : 
this  would  be  avarice.  It  consists  in  limiting  one's  expenses 
to  what  is  strictly  necessary,  or  to  a  few  modest  superfluities. 
But  if  a  case  arises  in  which  it  is  necessary  that  we  should 
be  lavish,  this  lavishness  is  in  no  way  contrary  to  the  maxim 
of  economy ;  and  to  try  to  avoid  it  would  be  avarice.  For 
instance,  in  the  romance  of  Ivanhoe,  the  Jew  Isaac,  who 
hesitates  about  sacrificing  his  fortune  to  save  the  honor  and 
the  life  of  his  family,  gives  thereby  a  proof  of  his  avarice, 
not  of  his  economy.  The  illustrious  Lady  Franklin,  who 
spent  all  her  fortune  in  despatching  expeditions  to  seek  for 
her  husband,  lost  amid  the  icebergs  of  the  north,  made  a 
wise  use  of  that  fortune,  which  should  always  be  regarded 
as  a  means,  never  as  an  end. 

The  same  is  true  in  regard  to  the  duty  of  self-preservation. 
This  duty  is  based  principally  upon  the  ground  that  it  is  the 
condition  for  the  fulfilment  of  all  our  other  duties ;  for  who- 
ever renounces  life,  renounces  with  it  even  morality  itself. 
Now,  among  the  duties  of  man  is  that  of  self-sacrifice  for  his 
fellow-creatures.  To  reject  this  duty  under  the  pretext  that 
we  are  forbidden  to  expose  ourselves  to  death,  is  a  sort  of 
vicious  circle :  it  is  sacrificing  the  very  object  of  life  to  the 

1  A  still  more  complicated  case  would  arise  if  one  had  renounced  his  nation- 
ality, and  become  responsible  for  the  destiny  of  another  people.  This  was  the 
case  with  Bernadotte.  But  the  action  would  still  be  culpable,  although  less 
so:  no  one  is  compelled  to  be  a  king. 


MORAL  INTENTION  289 

condition  without  which  that  object  could  not  be  attained. 
The  avaricious  man  who  sacrifices  his  well-being  to  his 
money  —  that  is,  to  the  means  of  procuring  his  well-being  — 
does  the  same  thing ;  so  does  the  fancied  invalid,  who  sacri- 
fices his  health  to  his  regimen.  Conditional  duties  should 
be  sacrificed  to  absolute  duties :  this  is  the  solution  of  the 
difficulties  suggested. 

There  are  also  duties  which  imply  the  idea  of  a  certain 
restriction  and  a  certain  limit.  For  instance,  the  duty  of 
keeping  one's  word  plainly  implies  an  exception  in  case  of 
superior  force.  The  maxim  that  we  should  not  harm  others 
implies  an  exception  in  case  of  legitimate  self-defence.  "Ne 
noceas  alteri  nisi  lacessitus  injuria"  says  Cicero.1  These  two 
exceptions  are  self-evident,  for  in  the  first  case  it  is  clear 
that  "  no  one  is  bound  to  perform  the  impossible : "  and,  in 
the  second,  to  deny  the  right  of  self-defence  is  equivalent 
to  authorizing  all  crimes ;  since,  if  good  men  did  not  defend 
themselves  against  those  who  are  evil,  the  latter  would 
inevitably  become  the  masters,  and  would  alone  remain  after 
the  ruin  of  the  former. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  other  exceptions  which  Cicero 
cites.  "  One  should  not,"  he  says,  "  restore  to  a  delirious 
man  his  sword."  In  fact,  the  duty  of  restoring  any  deposit 
implies  the  condition  that  the  depositor  has  possession  of  his 
reason.2  In  the  same  way,  the  duty  of  keeping  one's  prom- 
ises implies  that  the  execution  of  the  promise  must  not  be 
fatal  to  him  to  whom  it  was  made.  For  instance,  to  quote 
Cicero  again,  was  the  Sun  under  obligation  to  perform  his 
promise  to  Phaeton,  or  Neptune  to  keep  his  to  Theseus? 
No,  certainly  not;  for  it  is  implied  in  every  promise,  that 

1  De  Offlciis,  liv.  1.  Perhaps  the  exception  is  expressed  in  terms  which  are 
too  vague,  and  might  justify  any  kind  of  revenge.  Hence  St.  Ambrose  has 
criticised  it  in  his  De  Offlciis.  But  it  is  plain  that  Cicero  referred  only  to  the 
right  of  proper  self-defence. 

2  In  the  celebrated  romance  of  Werther,  Charlotte  had  a  right  to  refuse  to 
restore  to  Werther  his  pistols,  having  reason  to  suspect  how  he  might  use 
them.    There  was  ground  for  regarding  him  as  a  madman. 


290  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

I  cannot  pledge  myself  to  do  you  an  injury.  So,  too,  the 
duty  of  not  using  the  property  of  another  implies  an  excep- 
tion in  case  of  absolute  necessity,  when  it  must  be  supposed 
that  the  owner  would  consent  to  such  a  use  if  he  could  be 
consulted. 

Thus  it  is  impossible  not  to  accept  certain  limits,  such 
as  the  point  at  which  the  execution  of  the  duty  would  be- 
come absurd,  and  would  become  equivalent  to  the  negation 
of  justice  itself.  But  it  is  evident  that  those  restrictions 
should  always  be  understood  in  a  narrow,  not  a  broad, 
sense.  Ought  we  to  admit,  with  Father  Ligori,  that  the  ser- 
vant whose  wages  are  too  small  has  a  right  to  take  from  his 
master  whatever  is  necessary  for  his  support,  even  when  he 
has  voluntarily  accepted  these  wages?  This  is  a  case  of 
necessity,  he  says.  Must  we  admit,  with  Father  Ventura, 
that  it  is  permissible  to  violate  one's  oath,  when  it  is  done 
for  the  good  of  a  whole  people?  For,  he  says,  one  ought 
not  to  keep  an  oath  which  is  contrary  to  one's  conscience ; 
and  it  is  contrary  to  one's  conscience  to  cause  the  unhap- 
piness  of  a  whole  people.  Must  we  say,  once  more  with 
Father  Ligori,  that  a  prince  has  a  right  to  have  his  enemy 
killed  without  a  trial,  when  the  trial  would  create  a  scandal  ? 
Finally,  must  we  say,  with  those  casuists  whom  Pascal  over- 
threw and  brought  to  scorn,  that  it  is  permissible  to  kill  for 
the  sake  of  an  apple?  Such  latitude  in  the  interpretation 
of  moral  exceptions  is  equivalent  to  the  negation  of  all 
morality  and  all  duty.  The  case  of  superior  force  which 
annuls  a  promise  should  clearly  be  understood  to  imply  an 
absolute  impossibility,  not  merely  a  change  of  circumstances. 
The  right  of  self-defence  applies  only  to  a  real,  effective,  and 
actually  occurring  attack,  not  merely  to  a  threat,  or  to  a 
hostility  which  is  foreseen.  The  case  of  absolute  necessity, 
which  authorizes  exceptionally  the  use  of  another's  property, 
applies  only  to  an  actual  and  absolutely  inevitable  necessity, 
not  to  simple  need.  The  exception  of  nullity  on  account  of 
immorality  applies  to  an  oath,  only  when  this  plainly  involves 


MORAL  INTENTION.  291 

immorality  or  injustice ;  and  it  should  not  be  wrongfully- 
extended  to  other  cases.  The  exception  based  on  madness, 
which  authorizes  one  to  refuse  to  restore  a  deposit  to  its 
owner,  should  be  applied  literally,  not  figuratively.  Other- 
wise one  might  at  any  time  appropriate  the  property  of 
another,  under  the  pretext  that  he  would  make  a  bad  use 
of  it.  Thus  the  theory  of  moral  exceptions  cannot  be  made 
to  authorize  the  doctrine  of  the  direction  of  the  intention. 

But,  in  saying  this,  do  we  deny  that  there  are  heart-rending 
situations  when  the  soul,  hesitating  between  two  equally 
sacred  duties,  knows  not  which  to  fulfil,  and  when  it  forces 
itself  to  action  by  a  sort  of  moral  dictatorship  ?  Must  we 
condemn  the  heroine  of  The  Heart  of  Mid  Lothian,  who  was 
not  willing  to  soil  her  soul  with  a  falsehood,  even  to  save 
her  sister's  life?  Must  we,  on  the  other  hand,  condemn 
Desdemona,  who  in  dying  tries  to  save,  by  a  lie,  the  husband 
who  has  slain  her?  Must  we  condemn  as  a  parricide  Brutus; 
who  condemned  to  death  his  own  son,  a  traitor  to  his  coun- 
try ?  Must  we  admire  him  as  a  hero  ?  Can  we  say  with  the 
philosopher  Hemsterhuys,  in  speaking  of  the  second  Brutus ; 
"  What  he  did  was  a  crime  in  the  eyes  of  men,  but  in  his 
own  conscience  his  act  was  in  conformity  with  the  eternal 
order  of  things "  ?  We  must  confess  that  there  is  a  point 
where  all  theory  fails,  and  science  has  no  more  formulas  to 
offer.  A  cowardly  complaisance  to  human  weaknesses  takes 
advantage  of  these  extremely  rare  cases  to  encroach  upon 
the  strict  laws  of  morality.  The  philosopher  merely  recog- 
nizes that  it  is  not  in  his  power  to  give  rules  for  every  case. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MORAL  PROBABILISM. 

ALL  the  difficulties  which  may  arise  from  the  different 
states  of  the  moral  consciousness  are  brought  together, 
so  to  speak,  under  a  celebrated  theory,  which  was  long  noted 
in  schools  of  theology,  and  which  Pascal  made  generally 
known  —  the  theory  of  Probabilism. 

Moral  probability  must  be  distinguished  from  logical  and 
philosophical  probability.  The  same  expression  is  used  in 
these  cases  with  very  different  meanings.  Logical  probabil- 
ism is  that  theory  which,  like  scepticism,  denies  that  there  is 
any  absolute  truth  in  human  opinions,  and  affirms  that  noth- 
ing can  be  known  with 'certainty.  But  it  differs  from  scepti- 
cism in  saying  that  all  things  are  not  equally  uncertain,  and 
that  some  things  are  more  probable  than  others.  Moral 
probabilism  does  not  give  a  general  denial  of  the  certainty 
of  human  knowledge;  it  does  not  even  deny  certainty  in 
morality;  it  recognizes  two  principles  which  give  certainty — 
natural  law  and  the  divine  law.  But  it  declares,  that,  outside 
of  this  vast  domain  of  certainty,  there  lies  another,  where 
only  probability  can  be  found ;  and  it  is  within  this  realm  of 
probable  opinions,  that  it  seeks  to  find  some  rule  and  test  by 
which  choice  may  be  determined. 

The  theory  of  probabilism  was  one  of  the  battle-grounds 
on  which  the  Jansenists  and  Jesuits  encountered  each  other 
in  the  seventeenth  century.1     Now  that  the  passions  of  both 

1  I  shall  not  enter  here  into  the  purely  historical  question,  how  far  the 
Jesuits  are  to  be  held  responsible  for  the  theory  of  probabilism.    It  seems  to 
be  settled,  that  they  did  not  invent  it,  and  that  some  Jesuit  doctors  rejected 
292 


MORAL  PROBABILISM.  293  R  S  I  T  T 

parties  are  things  of  the  past,  it  will,  perhaps,  be^iy^JFl0!{$\»^ 
distinguish  what  was  true  or  false  on  both  sides,  than  it 
could  have  been  in  the  thick  of  the  combat. 

In  a  very  able  and  logical  treatise  on  probabilism,1  Nicole 
sums  up  this  doctrine   in  the  two  following    propositions: 

1.  Any  probable  opinion,  though  it  may  be  false,  and  con- 
trary to  the  divine  law,  is  an  excuse  for  sin  before  God; 

2.  Of  two  probable  opinions,  it  is  permissible  to  accept 
the  one  which  is  least  certain. 

To  comprehend  this  question  thoroughly,  it  is  necessary 
to  understand  what  is  meant  by  the  word  probable.  In  its 
general  acceptation,  an  opinion  is*  probable  when  it  has  a 
certain  number  of  arguments  in  its  favor :  hence  it  follows, 
that  the  more  arguments  there  are  in  its  favor,  the  more 
probable  it  is.  Thus  of  two  opinions  the  most  probable  is 
that  one  which  has  the  greater  number  of  reasons  in  its 
favor. 

So  far,  there  is  no  difficulty;  but  the  question  becomes 
complicated  wjien  we  consider  that  an  opinion  may  seem 
probable  from  one  of  two  stand-points,  either  from  that  of 
reason,  or  from  that  of  authority.  Thus  an  opinion  which 
seems  to  be  supported  by  sound  arguments  appears  to  be 
still  more  probable  when  we  know  that  it  is  sustained  by 
trustworthy  authorities ;  while  if  we  learn,  on  the  contrary, 
that  eminent  authorities  are  opposed  to  it,  this  will  be  a  rea- 
son for  doubting  it,  and  therefore  will  diminish  its  proba- 
bility. Thus  there  is  ground  for  accepting  the  distinction 
made  by  theologians  between  two  kinds  of  probability  —  in- 
ternal and  external  probability,  the  first  of  which  is  founded 
upon  reason,  and  the  second  upon  authority.     When  these 

it.  But  it  is  also  certain,  that  the  Jesuits  were  its  principal  defenders  against 
the  Jansenists,  and  that  the  apologists  of  the  Jesuits  are  also  the  apologists  of 
probabilism.  Moreover,  as  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  truth  in  this  theory, 
it  does  not  seem  as  if  one  would  do  the  Jesuits  any  great  wrong  in  attribut- 
ing it  to  them. 

1  Les  Provinciales,  with  Wendrock's  treatises  translated  into  French, 
vol.  iv. 


294  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

two  probabilities  do  not  agree,  it  becomes  a  question  which 
ought  to  give  way,  and  whether  it  is  not  permissible  to  ac- 
cept an  opinion  which  is  extrimically  probable  in  preference 
to  one  which  is  intrinsically  so.  If  this  be  granted,  we  must 
then  inquire  on  what  grounds  an  opinion  can  be  said  to  be 
extrinsically  probable;  and  here  comes  in  the  rule  which 
Pascal  has  so  ridiculed,  that  "a  single  serious  doctor  can,  by 
himself,  make  an  opinion  probable." 

Let  us  return  to  the  two  propositions  already  quoted,  and 
which  actually  give  a  clear  synopsis  of  the  doctrine  of 
probabilism.  * 

For  the  guidance  and  instruction  of  the  reader,  I  will 
state  at  the  outset,  that,  from  my  point  of  view,  the  proba- 
bilists  are  right  as  to  the  first  proposition,  and  wrong  as  to 
the  second.  Conversely,  the  Jansenists  are  right  as  to  the 
second  proposition,  but  wrong  as  to  the  first.  Here,  as  in 
all  other  theological  contests,  it  may  be  said  that  the  Jesuits 
have  defended  the  cause  of  liberty,  but  have  pushed  it  into 
license ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  Jansenists  have 
defended  the  cause  of  Christian  virtue,  but  have  pushed  it 
into  fanaticism. 

The  first  of  these  two  contested  propositions  is  this :  a 
probable  opinion,  even  if  false,  and  contrary  to  both  natural 
and  divine  law,  is  an  excuse  for  sin. 

This  proposition  is  merely  the  logical  result  of  the  princi- 
ple which  I  have  already  set  forth :  Obey  your  conscience. 
If  I  use  the  word  probable  in  its  natural  and  ordinary  sense 
(not  taking  into  account  the  difficulty  which  arises  from 
exterior  probability),  then  a  probable  opinion  is  one  which 
presents  itself  to  my  conscience  supported  by  more  argu- 
ments than  the  contrary  opinion  can  show.  How,  then, 
could  I  obey  my  conscience,  were  I  to  choose  the  opinion 
which  appears  least  probable  to  it  ? 

But,  it  is  said,  this  opinion  is  false :  it  is  contrary  to  natu- 
ral and  divine  law.  I  answer,  One  of  two  things  is  true : 
either  I  know  this,  or  I  do  not  know  it.     If  I  know  it,  how  can 


MORAL  PROBAB1LISM.  *295 

it  be  an  opinion  contrary  to  natural  or  divine  law  ?  Could 
such  a  one  appear  probable  to  me,  since  I  began  by  setting 
aside  as  absolutely  certain  every  thing  which  is  plainly  in 
conformity  with  natural  and  divine  law  ?  If,  then,  I  regard 
this  opinion  as  probable,  it  is  because  it  seems  to  me  that  it 
does  not  conflict  with  either  one  of  these  two  laws,  and  that 
I  do  not  perceive  this  disagreement. 

Unquestionably  man  is  under  obligation  to  conform  to 
natural  law,  but  not  to  natural  law  as  it  is  in  itself,  but 
only  as  he  knows  it.  For  how  can  one  be  expected  to  obey 
a  law  of  which  he  is  ignorant  ?  In  civil  society,  indeed,  we 
practically  say,  "  that  no  one  can  be  supposed  to  be  ignorant 
of  the  law ; "  because  the  excuse  of  ignorance  could  always 
be  offered,  and  never  disproved,  and  because  it  is  supposed 
that  everybody  will  take  pains  to  know  about  the  laws  which 
interest  him.  But,  in  regard  to  natural  right  and  wrong,  we 
cannot  resort  to  such  a  fiction.  As  here  *the  conscience  is 
concerned,  no  one  can  pretend  to  be  ignorant  of  that  which 
he  really  knows ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  if  the  agent  is  actu- 
ally ignorant  of  the  law,  it  is  impossible  to  hold  him  obliged 
to  act  as  if  he  knew  it.  Consequently,  if  he  thinks  it  prob- 
able that  a  certain  action  is  more  in  conformity  with  the 
natural  law  than  a  certain  other  one,  he  is  evidently  excusa- 
ble :  still  more,  he  is  under  obligation 1  to  obey  this  conviction, 
even  if  it  is  a  mistaken  one. 

All  theologians  admit  that  "invincible  ignorance  is  an 
excuse ; "  and  St.  Thomas  even  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  it 
is  a  sin  to  act  contrary  to  an  erroneous  conscience  —  always 
supposing  it  to  be  a  case  of  invincible  error.  The  Jansenists 
could  not  refuse  to  admit  these  principles,  which  are  the  con- 
clusions of  common  sense.  But  they  claim  that  the  probable 
opinion  cannot  be  classed  under  the  head  of  ignorance  or  of 
invincible  error.  For,  they  say,  since  the  opinion  is  only 
probable,  it  cannot  be  absolutely  certain.     Some  appearance 

1  An  excuse,  if  permission  is  in  question  ;  an  obligation,  if  a  prohibition  and 
duty  are  concerned. 


296  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

of  truth  is  recognized  in  the  contrary  opinion.  This  latter 
opinion  (which  by  hypothesis  is  the  correct  one)  is  not  un- 
known to  you ;  you  even  know  the  arguments  for  it ;  hence 
it  is  in  your  own  power  to  forsake  your  ignorance  and  your 
error.     Therefore  they  are  not  invincible. 

But  is  it  not  plain  that  this  is  sophistry  ?  For,  if  I  say 
that  a  certain  opinion  seems  to  me  probable,  I  thus  assume 
that  I  have  previously  taken  all  necessary  and  possible  meas- 
ures to  assure  myself  of  the  truth,  or  that  I  think  I  have 
taken  them :  it  is  only  after  such  an  examination,  at  least  so 
far  as  it  is  possible  for  me  to  make  it,  that  I  have  come  to 
regard  a  certain  opinion  as  more  probable  than  another. 
To  see  more  clearly,  at  least  at  present,  is  out  of  my  power : 
my  preference  for  the  false  opinion,  instead  of  the  true  one, 
is,  then,  really  a  case  of  ignorance  or  invincible  error.  Un- 
doubtedly, if  the  action  is  one  which  can  be  postponed,  I 
may  continue  the  examination  for  an  indefinite  time.  But, 
it  the  action  must  be  performed  hie  et  nunc,  I  am  bound  to 
make  only  such  an  examination  as  is  practically  possible; 
and,  whatever  speculative  doubt  may  exist,  the  very  fact  that 
I  have  chosen  the  most  probable  opinion  entitles  me  to  claim 
the  benefit  of  works  done  in  good  faith.  Finally,  if  the 
Jansenist  strictness  goes  so  far  as  to  doubt  the  possibility  of 
man  having  any  good  faith  with  respect  to  himself,  and  to 
assume,  that,  in  alleged  cases  of  involuntary  error,  there  is 
always  —  as  there  certainly  is  sometimes  —  a  secret  and  blind 
partiality  for  ourselves,  I  answer,  that,  as  this  assumption 
deprives  me  of  every  criterion  by  which  to  distinguish  true 
good  faith  from  that  which  is  false,  I  have  a  right  to  regard 
myself  as  being  of  good  faith  when  I  am  unconscious  of  my 
falsehood.  Besides,  to  maintain  positively  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  an  error  committed  in  good  faith,  is  to  go  far 
beyond  the  point  in  question.  The  Jansenists  did,  in  fact, 
go  even  so  far  as  this.  From  this  point  of  view,  their 
adversaries  were  the  real  defenders  of  common  sense  and 
•equity. 


MORAL  PROBABILISM.  297 

They  were  even  the  defenders  of  toleration,  at  least  to  a 
certain  extent;  and  this  is  one  of  the  most  curious  points 
in  this  quarrel  over  probabilism,  which,  under  a  scholastic 
form,  touches  the  gravest  problems  of  conscience. 

Nicole,  in  his  discussion  of  probability,  wishing  to  render 
his  adversaries  absurd,  deduced  from  it,  as  a  necessary  con- 
sequence, that  heretics  are  excusable  and  even  innocent. 
"  Not  only,"  said  Nicole,  "  do  they  retain  this  maxim,  which 
is  so  pleasing  to  all  unbelievers,  that  every  one  may  be  saved 
while  retaining  his  own  religion,  if  he  believes  it  to  be  proba- 
ble :  they  even  come  very  near  teaching  it  expressly."  He 
actually  quotes  a  great  number  of  curious  passages,  taken 
from  the  writings  of  Jesuits,  which  are  in  perfect  harmony 
with  the  true  principles  of  religious  tolerance,  as  we  under- 
stand this  to-day. 

Thomas  Sanchez  actually  teaches,  "  that  an  infidel,  to  whom 
our  faith  is  proposed  as  being  more  credible  than  his  own,  is 
not  obliged  to  accept  it,  save  in  the  article  of  death,  provided 
the  doctrines  of  his  own  sect  still  appear  to  him  credibly 
probable."  Others,  like  Sancius  and  Diana,  go  still  farther, 
and  reject  even  the  exception  of  the  article  of  death.  They 
teach,  according  to  Escobar,  "  that  the  infidel  is  not  bound 
to  embrace  the  faith,  even  in  the  article  of  death."  Another 
Jesuit,  Caramuel,  very  skilful  in  the  dialectics  "of  proba- 
bility," according  to  Nicole,  also  suggests  in  the  form  of  a 
doubt,  whether  a  Lutheran,  who  is  born  a  Lutheran,  is  not 
excusable  for  retaining  his  religion  which  appears  to  him 
probable,  even  though  he  may  also  recognize  the  probability 
of  the  Catholic  teachings.  He  takes  his  arguments,  he  says, 
"  from  the  best  authors,  for  the  consolation  of  those  who  live 
in  Germany,  and  who  have  the  pain  of  seeing  so  many  persons, 
who  are  otherwise  very  good  people,  infected  with  heresy." 

Another  Jesuit,  Erard  Bile,1  goes  still  farther,  and  teaches 
plainly  that  people  can  be  saved  outside  of  the  Church. 

1  I  take  these  passages  from  the  treatise  "by  Nicole,  who  could  not  possibly 
have  suspected  that  the  time  would  come  when  these  words,  so  scandalous 


298  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

"  A  child  does  not  sin  in  believing  a  heresy  which  is  offered  to  him,  and 
which  his  parents  have  taught  him  —  at  least,  not  unless  he  knows  con- 
vincing reasons  which  take  all  probability  from  the  teachings  of  his  sect. 
For,  so  long  as  it  seems  to  him  probable,  he  does  not  sin  in  following  it. 
Hence  we  can  hardly  regard  as  heretics  many  young  girls  under  twenty 
years  of  age,  even  though  they  have  taken  the  communion.  For  who 
can  say  that  they  have  no  probable  argument  in  favor  of  their  sect? 
Now,  no  one  sins  in  following  a  probable  opinion.  You  tell  me  [he  adds] 
that  there  are  many  older  persons  who  think  that  they  do  well  in  remain- 
ing in  their  sect.  I  reply  that  this  cannot  be  sufficient  excuse  in  the 
case  of  those  who  live  among  Catholics.  But  in  Sweden,  in  Denmark, 
and  in  those  provinces  of  Germany  where  the  Catholic  religion  is  not 
practised,  these  persons  may  be  saved,  though  remaining  in  their  sect,  if 
they  commit  no  sin,  or  if,  in  case  they  do  sin,  they  perform  an  act  of 
love  or  of  contrition." 

Nicole  was,  then,  right  in  regarding  religious  toleration  as 
a  result  of  the  theory  of  probabilism :  but  he  was  wrong  in 
drawing  thence  an  argument  against  this  theory ;  for  it  is  a 
self-evident  principle  of  natural  right,  that  all  errors  made 
in  good  faith  are  innocent. 

"  What ! "  cries  Nicole :  "  even  when  manners  and  the 
moral  law  are  concerned,  we  may  sin  without  crime  if  a 
false  religion  permits  us  to  do  so !  For  instance,  it  is  certain 
that  the  Turks  believe  both  that  fornication  is  permissible 
between  two  persons  who  are  free,  and  that  Mahomet  was 
a  prophet  of  God.  According  to  the  principles  of  the  Jesuits, 
they  might  retain  this  latter  belief,  provided  that  it  seems 
to  them  probable.  Why  should  they  not  also  be  permitted 
to  follow  the  first,  in  regard  to  fornication?"  I  do  not  know 
what  the  Jesuits  answered ;  but  the  logical  result  seems  to 
me  plain,  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  accepting  it.  Plainly, 
the  Turks,  or  any  other  nation,  have  a  right  to  follow  the 
law  which  seems  to  them  true,  while  we  may  enlighten  them 
if  we  can ;  but,  so  long  as  they  remain  in  the  same  state  of 
enlightenment,  they  cannot  obey  our  consciences,  but  their 

in  his  eyes,  would  be  quoted  to  the  honor  of  the  Jesuits.  In  fact,  those  liberal 
consequences  are  precisely  what  the  modern  adherents  of  probabilism  reject. 
(See  the  edition  of  the  Provinciates,  by  the  Abbe  Maynard,  vol.  i.  p.  198.) 


MORAL  PROBABILISM.  299 

own.  We  must  always  come  back  to  the  distinction  between 
the  subjective  and  the  objective  law.  The  former  is  the 
only  true  law;  but  it  is  by  the  second  that  we  must  be 
judged,  provided  that  it  is  certain  that  we  have  done  every 
thing  in  our  power  to  understand  the  first. 

Nicole  and  the  Jansenists  maintained  that  man  should  be 
judged  by  the  law  as  it  is  in  itself,  and  not  by  the  law  as  it 
is  known  to  us.  For  example,  they  did  not  hesitate  to 
affirm,  on  the  authority  of  St.  Augustine,  that  the  Jews  were 
not  excusable  for  practising  retaliation,  "  although  they  fol- 
lowed the  terms  of  the  law  and  the  interpretation  of  their 
doctors."  They  said  the  same  of  the  repudiation  of  wives. 
"  Not  one  of  their  doctors  had  the  slightest  suspicion  that 
this  was  illicit.  Moses  expressly  permitted  it.  This  he  did, 
however,  because  of  the  hardness  of  their  hearts,  as  Jesus 
Christ  said.  But  how  could  they  imagine  that  it  was  solely 
for  this  reason  ?  Yet  the  tradition  of  the  Fathers  has  always 
been,  that  it  was  never  permissible  for  the  Jews  to  repudiate 
their  wives." 1 

In  this  case,  as  in  all  others,  it  is  evident  that  the  Jansen- 
ists abridged  liberty  as  much  as  possible,  while  exaggerating 
personal  responsibility.  The  doctrine  of  original  sin  furnish- 
ing them  with  an  example  of  a  responsibility  which  was  not 
due  to  the  individual  will,  they  did  not  hesitate  to  apply  the 
same  principle  everywhere ;  and,  without  inquiring  how  a 
man  can  obey  a  law  of  which  he  is  ignorant,  they  required 
that  a  man  should  be  judged,  not  according  to  the  state  of 
his  conscience,  but  according  to  absolute  truth. 

In  a  word,  I  think  that  the  Jesuits  were  truly  humane  and 
philosophical  when  they  maintained  against  the  Jansenists 
that  the  moral  agent  is  responsible  only  to  the  extent  of  his 
knowledge :  thus  the  first  of  the  two  propositions  which 
Nicole  condemns  is  only  a  perfectly  legitimate  application 
of  the  general  principle  that  no  one  can  obey  any  conscience 
but  his  own.     Is  the  same  thing  true  of  the  second? 

1  Nicole,  loc.  cit.,  p.  97. 


800  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

The  second  proposition  of  probabilism  is,  that,  between 
two  probable  opinions,  "it  is  permissible  to  choose  the  one 
which  is  least  probable  and  least  safe.'1  To  comprehend  this 
principle  thoroughly,  it  is  necessary  to  know  what  distinc- 
tion is  made  between  the  probable  and  the  safe  by  theolo- 
gians who  have  studied  this  subject.  We  know  what  is 
meant  by  a  probable  opinion  (probabilis) :  let  us  see  what 
is  meant  by  a  safe  opinion  (tuta). 

In  theological  usage,  an  opinion  is  more  safe  (tutior')  in 
proportion  as  it  conforms  more  completely  to  the  law :  it  is 
less  safe  when  it  gives  greater  liberty.  Every  moral  ques- 
tion can  always  be  reduced  to  this :  what  ought  I  to  permit 
myself  ?  from  what  ought  I  to  abstain  ?  That  which  gives 
greater  liberty  to  the  individual,  more  room  to  personal 
interest  and  to  the  pleasures  of  life,  is  always  less  safe  than 
the  opinion  which  permits  less.  If  I  am  wrong,  I  do  not 
risk  much :  to  abstain  is  undoubtedly  a  privation,  but  a  pri- 
vation is  a  very  small  matter  in  comparison  with  security. 
To  abstain  will  always  be  the  safest  way.  For  instance,  a 
sick  person  desires  some  fruit,  drink,  or  meat :  perhaps  the 
satisfaction  of  this  desire  would  do  him  no  harm,  perhaps  it 
might  injure  him ;  it  is,  then,  safer  to  deny  himself.  By 
analogy,  an  opinion  in  morals  is  called  safer  when  it  restrains 
the  liberty,  and  gives  greater  stress  to  denial,  prohibition, 
and  law. 

For  instance,  take  the  question  whether  it  is  permissible 
to  go  to  the  theatre.  Suppose  there  are  as  many  reasons 
for  as  against  doing  so.  The  two  opinions  are,  then,  equally 
probable,  but  they  are  not  equally  safe  :  for,  if  it  is  forbidden 
to  go,  I  risk  a  great  deal  by  going ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  if 
it  is  permitted,  I  risk  little  by  abstaining.  In  a  word,  a  safe 
opinion  is  one  which  makes  us  sure  as  regards  the  conse- 
quences :  and,  as  the  good  which  is  here  in  question  is  eter- 
nal salvation,  it  is  clear  that  the  stricter  an  opinion  is,  the 
more  violence  it  does  to  nature,  the  safer  it  will  be ;  for  by 
following  it  I  shall  never  risk  losing  any  thing  but  a  momen- 


MORAL  PROBABILISM.  301 

tary  pleasure,  while  in  disregarding  it  I  risk  my  eternal 
happiness.  Transplanting  this  theological  distinction  into 
philosophy,  I  should  say  that  the  more  closely  an  opinion 
conforms  to  moral  law  the  safer  it  is,  while  the  more  latitude 
it  allows  to  personal  interest  the  less  safe  it  becomes.1 

A  moral  opinion  may,  then,  be  regarded  from  two  points 
of  view,  either  as  probable  or  as  safe.  These  two  elements 
should  be  combined  in  choosing  and  preferring  an  opinion. 

Hence  come  three  doctrines  —  First,  One  should  always 
prefer  the  most  probable  opinion,  whether  it  is  more  or  less 
safe :  this  is  called  probabiliorism.  Second,  One  should 
always  prefer  the  safer  opinion,  whether  it  is  more  or  less 
probable  :  this  is  called  tutiorisrn.  Third,  Of  two  opinions, 
it  is  permissible  to  choose  that  which  is  least  probable  and 
least  safe :  this  is  properly  what  is  called  probabilism.  It  may 
be  said,  that,  in  general,  the  Jesuits  advocated  probabilism, 
and  the  Jansenists  tutiorism.  Bossuet,  who  in  theology 
always  preferred  a  medium  course,  and  decisions  guided  by 
common  sense,  advocated  probabiliorism ;  and  the  Church 
has  done  the  same,  condemning  the  excesses  of  probabilism, 
but  not  absolutely  condemning  its  principle. 

It  seems  to  me  impossible  to  adduce  any  argument  which 
could  authorize  us  to  choose  the  less  probable  opinion  rather 
than  the  one  which  is  more  probable.  In  regard  to  this,  the 
Jansenists,  especially  Pascal  and  Nicole,  as  well  as  Bossuet, 
are  the  true  representatives  of  good  sense  and  the  moral  con- 
sciousness ;  and  the  somewhat  shamefaced  apologists  of  prob- 
abilism do  not  offer  a  single  plausible  argument  in  its  favor, 
except  that  the  less  probable  is,  nevertheless,  probable  to 
a  certain  extent.  But,  since  this  probability  is  less  than 
another,  how  can  one  choose  the  less  probable  with  a  clear 
conscience?     Let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  we  are  not  now 

1  It  seems  that  some  casuists  used  the  word  safe  in  an  equivocal  sense  ;  for 
Caramuel,  quoted  hy  Nicole,  says  that  "a  less  probahle  opinion  is  also  the 
safer  if  it  is  milder."  Here  the  word  is  used  in  a  profane  and  worldly  sense, 
while  in  theology  it  is  generally  used  in  that  which  I  have  explained. 


302  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

considering  an  opinion  which  is  less  safe  —  that  is  to  say,  one 
which  hypothetieally  grants  more  to  nature  or  to  personal 
interest;  for,  if  a  less  probable  but  safer  opinion  were  in 
question,  it  might  be  said,  that,  in  reality,  it  is  more  probable, 
since  the  safety  is  itself  an  element  of  probability.  In  fact, 
if  the  more  lenient  appears  to  me  more  probable  than  the 
severe  opinion,  I  may  readily  suppose  that  this  is  an  illusion 
caused  by  the  natural  indulgence  which  I  feel  toward  myself, 
which  hides  from  me  my  real  duty.  But  such  an  illusion  is 
impossible  in  regard  to  an  opinion  which  is  less  safe ;  that  is, 
more  lenient.  To  adopt  such  an  opinion  as  this  when  there 
are  more  numerous  and  stronger  reasons  in  support  of  the 
opposing  opinion,  is  to  act  in  direct  opposition  to  one's  con- 
science. 

I  am  aware  that  these  principles  of  probabilism  were  re- 
stricted in  their  practical  application  so  far  as  was  possible : 
"  One  should  not  be  satisfied,"  it  was  said,  "  either  with 
speculative  or  with  probable  probability ;  that  is  to  say,  with 
what  was  not  pretty  certain,  nor  with  a  probability  which 
could  not  bear  comparison  with  the  motives  for  the  contrary 
conclusions."1  But  of  whatever  kind  the  probability  may 
be,  however  real,  practical,  and  well  founded,  so  soon  as  our 
conscience  presents  to  us  more  numerous  and  stronger  rea- 
sons in  favor  of  the  opposite  side,  it  is  this  opposite  side 
which  our  conscience  advises  us  to  take  ;  and  to  choose  the 
most  agreeable  solution  is  always,  whatever  may  be  said, 
merely  a  means  of  evading  obedience  to  conscience. 

If  probabilism  appears  untenable  in  itself,  it  will  appear 
still  more  so  when  we  take  into  consideration  the  distinction 
made  above  between  internal  and  external  probability. 
Thus  far  we  have  supposed  the  probable  opinion  to  be  based 
upon  intrinsic  arguments ;  but,  according  to  the  theory  of 
probabilism,  an  opinion  might  be  called  probable,  provided  it 
was  uttered  by  authorized  and  commendable  theologians. 
These  were  called  "serious  doctors,"  an  expression  which 

i  Abbe  Maynard,  p.  196. 


MORAL  PROBABILISM.  303 

Tascal's  irony  has  rendered  immortal ;  and  we  know,  that, 
according  to  some  casuists,  the  authority  of  a  single  one  of 
these  doctors  was  sufficient  to  render  an  opinion  probable. 
They  actually  intended  by  this  an  eminent  and  weighty 
authority,  such,  for  example,  as  that  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas; 
but,  leaving  out  of  consideration  the  practical  objections  to 
giving  such  latitude  to  external  authority,  it  is  the  principle 
itself  which  is  inadmissible. 

In  my  opinion,  the  true  principle  of  all  moral  action  is 
this  which  I  have  frequently  repeated:  Obey  your  con- 
science. Hence  we  should  obey  our  own  conscience,  not 
that  of  another.  Unquestionably,  as  we  have  seen,  this 
principle  does  not  exclude  the  right  and  the  duty  of  consult- 
ing consciences  which  are  more  enlightened  than  our  own : 
evidently  the  reasons  given  by  these  wise  men  are  among 
the  arguments  which  settle  the  probability  of  an  opinion. 
But  our  conscience  should  obey  only  arguments,  never  au- 
thority. If  I  think  a  case  uncertain,  I  evidently  ought  to  try 
to  become  enlightened  in  regard  to  it;  and  each  one  will  do 
this  in  his  own  way,  one  by  consulting  his  spiritual  director, 
another  by  reading  Plato  or  Epictetus.  But,  in  every  case, 
the  reasons  must  have  been  accepted  by  my  conscience 
before  I  can  submit  to  them ;  and  I  should  choose  a  certain 
opinion,  not  because  some  doctor  has  thought  it  probable, 
but  because  I  myself  think  it  to  be  so.  Thus  there  can  be 
no  probability  but  an  internal  one,  and  authority  is  in  my 
view  merely  a  means  of  augmenting  this  internal  probability. 
In  case  of  disagreement  between  the  two,  internal  probability 
should '  always  decide  the  question.  I  do  not  see,  indeed, 
that  the  probabilists  ever  declared  expressly  that  probability 
founded  upon  reason  should  give  way  to  probability  founded 
upon  authority;  for  neither  Pascal  nor  Nicole  quote  any 
such  passages.  But  it  is  evident  that  the  general  principle 
of  probabilism  implies  this  result;  for,  if  I  may  prefer  the 
least  probable  opinion  to  that  which  is  most  probable,  it 
follows  that  I  may  prefer  an  opinion  founded  upon  authority 


304  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

to  one  founded  upon  reason.  If  it  is  meant  that  authority 
itself  is  of  value  only  in  so  far  as  it  offers  good  arguments, 
then  why  speak  at  all  of  external  authority?  We  need,  then, 
not  serious  doctors,  but  good  reasons.  A  good  reason  given 
by  any  one  who  is  neither  a  doctor  nor  serious  ought  to  be 
enough  to  make  an  opinion  probable,  but  the  mere  authority 
of  a  Thomas  Aquinas  or  an  Augustine  cannot  do  this. 

If  we  reject  the  fundamental  principle  of  probabilism,  we 
shall  not  necessarily  adopt  the  opposing  principle  of  Jansen- 
ism ;  that  is  to  say,  tutiorism.  Tutiorism  is  right  when  it 
tells  us  to  take  the  safer  of  two  opinions  when  it  is  more 
probable  than  the  other,  or  when  it  is  even  equally  probable. 
It  may  also  be  accepted  when  it  teaches,  that,  of  two  opinions 
which  are  of  unequal  probability,  it  is  permissible  to  choose 
the  least  probable  if  it  is  the  safer ;  which  is  the  same  thing 
as  saying  that  it  is  always  permissible  to  follow  the  strictest 
principle.  But  this  doctrine  goes  beyond  reasonable  bounds 
when  it  says  not  only  that  this  is  permissible,  but  that  it  is 
obligatory  —  in  a  word,  that  it  is  our  duty  always  to  choose 
the  safer  at  the  expense  of  the  more  probable ;  for  this 
maxim  is  really  the  same  as  sacrificing  reason  to  fear.  It 
was  in  obedience  to  this  principle  that  the  Jansenists  ac- 
cepted the  most  revolting  rigor.  For  instance,  is  mar- 
riage permissible?  Clearly,  if  there  is  any  opinion  as  to 
this  question  which  is  probabilis,  probabilior,  probabilissima, 
it  is  the  affirmative ;  for,  accepting  the  contrary  opinion,  the 
human  race  must  perish.  However,  the  negative,  though 
less  probable,  is  safer :  for,  after  all,  marriage  is  the  de- 
struction of  virginity,  and  purity  is  of  greater  value  :  one 
runs  more  risk  as  to  his  salvation  by  marrying  than  by  be- 
coming a  monk,  etc.  Hence  comes  the  Jansenist  opinion, 
which  Pascal  accepted,  that  marriage  is  a  deicide.  As  a 
general  thing,  all  rigorists  are  tutiorists.  For  instance, 
Epictetus  forbids  the  wise  man  to  laugh  —  not  that  laughter 
is  a  bad  thing  in  itself,  but  that,  by  making  one  habituated 
to  frivolity,  it  puts  him  in  danger  of  sinning  in  many  circum- 


MORAL  PROBABILISM.  305 

stances.  Thus  we  see  that  this  principle,  if  logically  carried 
out,  would  result  in  granting  nothing  to  nature,  in  making 
life  a  burden,  and  God  a  tyrant. 

This  Jansenist  principle  of  terrorism  will  explain  Pascal's 
famous  argument  in  favor  of  the  existence  of  God.  It  is 
only  necessary  to  apply  this  interpretation  of  the  moral 
order  to  the  philosophic  and  religious  order. 

Is  there  a  God,  or  is  there  not?  Which  of  these  two 
opinions  is  the  more  probable?  If  we  consider  only  the 
probability,  properly  so  called,  that  is  to  say,  the  number 
and  the  weight  of  the  arguments,  Pascal  does  not  hesitate 
to  say  that  there  are  no  more  reasons  for  one  opinion  than 
for  the  other.  He  would  stake  the  question  of  the  existence 
of  God  on  a  throw  of  the  dice :  perhaps  even,  since  he 
delights  in  extremes,  he  would  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
existence  of  God  is  the  least  probable  of  the  two  hypotheses. 

But  if  in  this  case  the  affirmative  opinion  is  the  least 
probable,  it  is  very  much  safer.  In  truth,  if  one  believes 
that  God  exists,  or  at  least  if  one  acts  as  though  one 
believed  it  (which  means  the  same  thing  with  Pascal),  one 
risks  nothing  even  if  God  does  not  exist.  On  the  contrary, 
by  believing  that  God  does  not  exist,  one  risks  every  thing 
in  case  he  does  exist.  If,  then,  one  should  always  adopt  the 
safest  opinion,  even  when  it  is  less  probable,  one  should 
believe  in  God,  which  is  safer,  whatever  may  be  the  logical 
probability  of  the  opinion. 

The  reason  why  Pascal's  argument  has  not  been  thor- 
oughly understood  is,  that  it  has  been  regarded  merely  as 
a  calculation  of  logical  probabilities,  the  risks  or  chances 
counting  as  elements  in  this  probability,  while  these  two 
elements  should  be  distinguished,  the  probability,  or  the 
number  of  reasons,  being  placed  on  one  side,  and  safety,  or 
the  risks  and  chances,  on  the  other.  This  distinction  was 
familiar  to  all  the  theologians  of  his  day.  If  the  principle 
be  admitted,  the  conclusions  are  logically  deduced. 

One  might,  however,  dispute  these  two  propositions ;  viz., 


306  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

that,  in  believing  in  God,  one  risks  nothing  in  case  he  does 
not  exist,  and  that,  in  not  believing  in  him,  one  risks  every 
thing  in  case  he  does  exist. 

In  answer  to  the  first  assertion,  we  may  say  with  M.  E. 
Havet,  that,  if  God  does  not  exist,  my  life  and  my  happiness 
in  this  world  become  my  all,  and  to  sacrifice  these  is  an 
infinite  loss.1 

In  answer  to  the  second  assertion,  we  may  say  that  a  good 
and  just  God  could  not  punish  any  one  for  not  having 
believed  in  him,  if  his  existence  were  less  probable  than  his 
non-existence,  as  the  hypothesis  makes  it. 

But  Pascal  would  not  assent  to  either  of  these  objections. 

To  the  first  objection  he  would  answer,  that  man  is  misera- 
ble, whether  there  is,  or  is  not,  any  God.  The  pleasures  of 
life  are  nothing ;  reason  is  powerless  and  worthless  in  any 
case;  hence  we  have  nothing  to  lose.  In  truth,  one  does 
not  need  to  be  a  devotee  in  order  to  recognize  the  vanity  of 
human  things.  The  author  of  Ucclesiastes  was,  perhaps,  not 
a  devotee :  he  seems  rather  to  have  been  an  Epicurean,  blasS, 
and  disgusted  with  every  thing.  Lucretius  has  often  been 
compared  with  Pascal.  Among  modern  writers,  Obermann 
is  as  melancholy  as  Rene*.  Sainte-Beuve  ended  his  History 
of  Port-Royal  with  the  words  that  it  was  "  only  a  special 
illusion  in  the  midst  of  infinite  illusion."  The  atheist  Scho- 
penhauer teaches  the  Buddhist  doctrine  of  Nirvana.  Thus 
Pascal  is  authorized  to  say  that  life  is  nothing,  and  that  in 
sacrificing  it,  with  reason  thrown  in,  one  does  not  lose  very 
much.  From  the  stand-point  of  good  common  sense,  that  of 
Voltaire  for  instance,  Pascal's  thesis  is  of  no  great  value ; 
but  in  the  view  of  a  profound  philosophy,  sceptical  as  well 
as  mystic,  it  is  very  reasonable. 

As  to  the  second  objection,  it  would  give  him  no  more 
trouble  than  the  first.  From  the  Jansenist  point  of  view, 
in  fact,  error,  even   if  honest,  is  punishable,   as   we   have 

1  Penstes  de  Pascal,  published  by  E.  Havet.  See  the  very  remarkable  com- 
mentary upon  this  celebrated  passage. 


MORAL  PROBABILISM.  307 

already  seen.  We  are  to  be  judged  according  to  the  truth 
as  it  is  in  itself,  not  as  it  has  appeared  to  us.  Pascal,  accept- 
ing the  Jansenist  ideas  upon  this  point,  would  necessarily 
believe  that  God  would  condemn  all  those  who  had  denied 
him,  even  though  they  had  not  had  sufficient  light  to  know 
him. 

Granting  all  this,  Pascal's  argument  is,  nevertheless,  insen- 
sate ;  but  it  contains  no  logical  flaw. 

It  may  be  said  that  Pascal  did  not  know  all  these  scho- 
lastic distinctions :  this  is  quite  probable,  for  he  had  a  horror 
of  scholasticism.  But  he  had  talked  a  great  deal  with  his 
theological  friends,  and  become  impregnated  with  their  prin- 
ciples while  disengaging  these  from  the  scholastic  forms; 
and  it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  him  a  great  deal  for  him  to 
deduce  suddenly  from  it  the  most  unexpected  consequences. 

He  himself,  in  practical  life,  carried  tutiorism  to  its  most 
extreme  and  odious  results.  For  instance,  let  the  following 
question  be  propounded  in  an  abstract  form :  Is  it  permissible 
to  have  affection  for  a  sister  who  loves  you  tenderly,  and 
cares  for  you  devotedly  in  your  last  illness  ?  No  one  could 
hesitate  to  reply  that  the  affirmative  is  very  probable,  proba- 
bilissima.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  every  temporal  affection 
draws  us  away  from  God,  in  proportion  as  we  yield  to  it. 
It  is  always  to  be  feared  that  one  may  go  too  far,  and  may 
fall  into  sin.  The  safest  (tutius)  course  will,  then,  be,  to 
refuse  under  such  circumstances  to  give  to  a  sister  the 
slightest  proof  of  affection,  and  even  to  guard  against  nature 
by  treating  her  rudely  and  harshly.  This  is  what  Pascal 
did.  He  who  so  strictly  carried  out  the  most  extravagant 
logical  results  of  the  principle  of  tutiorism,1  might  easily 
draw  from  it,  combining  it  with  the  calculation  of  proba- 
bilities, the  famous  wager  with  which  we  are  familiar. 

1  We  should  not  confound  with  tutiorism  the  principle,  accepted  both  by 
common  sense  and  by  orthodoxy,  viz.,  in  dubiis  tutius.  But  this  rule  is  appli- 
cable only  when  there  is  an  equilibrium  between  the  two  opinions,  not  when 
one  of  the  two  is  infinitely  more  probable  than  the  other. 


308  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

It  should  be  added,  that,  to  Pascal's  mind,  this  question 
was  not  simply  a  speculative  problem  to  be  solved,  but  a 
highly  practical  question,  or  rather,  a  line  of  conduct  to  he 
chosen,  a  part  to  be  taken  ;  and  consequently  he  was  justified 
in  applying,  even  to  the  question  of  God's  existence,  the 
Jansenist  rule  that  one  should  always  choose  the  safer 
opinion. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  Pascal's  argument,  I  may  sum 
up  by  saying,  that,  in  the  debate  as  to  probabilism,  the  right 
and  wrong  seem  to  me  very  nearly  equally  divided  between 
the  Jansenists  and  the  Jesuits ;  for,  if  the  latter  have  allowed 
themselves  to  fall  into  condemnable  laxity,  the  former  have 
no  less  weakened  the  essence  of  the  moral  sentiment  by 
substituting  the  principle  of  terror  for  the  principle  of  con- 
science and  of  reason.  Their  errors  are  of  a  more  noble 
character,  because  they  are  more  austere;  but  they  turned 
back  from  Christianity  to  Judaism,  and  they  changed  a  law 
of  liberty  and  of  love  into  a  law  of  slavery  and  of  fear. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES. 

NOTHING  is  more  embarrassing  to  the  moralist  than  the 
diversity,  the  variability,  and  the  contradiction,  found 
among  human  opinions  and  manners.  Sceptics  have  taken 
advantage  of  this  as  an  argument  against  the  doctrine  of  an 
absolute  morality:  dogmatists  persist,  in  spite  of  appear- 
ances, in  maintaining  that  such  a  morality  does  exist.  The 
former  see,  in  what  is  called  morality,  only  the  complex  resull 
of  the  numerous  and  varying  habits,  interests,  and  instincts  of 
the  various  races  of  men :  the  latter  affirm  the  existence 
of  a  natural  moral  law,  unwritten,  more  or  less  fully  known 
to  all  men,  more  or  less  modified  by  their  inclinations  and 
interests,  but  everywhere,  with  an  irresistible  authority, 
commanding  them  to  do  good,  and  forbidding  them  to  do 
evil.  There  is  the  same  conflict  as  to  the  doctrine  of  rights. 
The  sceptical  school,  sustained  in  this  by  the  historical 
school,  and  even  by  that  of  tradition,  maintains  that  this, 
like  morality,  is  merely  the  result  of  facts,  of  necessities, 
of  circumstances,  and  of  customs.  The  philosophical  and 
rationalistic  school  maintains,  on  the  contrary,  that  there  is 
a  natural,  eternal,  and  imprescriptible  right,  anterior  and 
superior  to  all  written  laws,  and  on  which  the  latter  must 
be  based  in  order  that  they  may  be  just.  This  debate  is 
not  without  importance,  even  in  politics:  it  may  even  be 
said  to  be  at  the  root  of  all  the  great  political  contests  of 
our  century. 

Let  us  confine  our  attention  to  the  question  of  morality. 
Montaigne  was  the  first  among  modern  writers  to  develop 

309 


310  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

in  all  its  force  the  sceptical  argument  against  moral  science.1 
Every  one  knows  his  admirable  chapter  on  Raymond  de 
Sebonde  —  a  truly  inexhaustible  arsenal  of  arguments  and 
objections  against  human  reason.  Our  modern  sceptics 
have  needed  only  to  draw  copiously  from  this  source. 

"  They  are  very  amusing  [he  says],  when,  to  give  some  certainty  to 
the  laws,  they  say  that  there  are  some  fixed,  perpetual,  immutable  laws 
which  they  call  natural,  which  are  implanted  in  the  minds  of  men  by 
their  very  nature ;  and,  of  these,  some  say  there  are  three,  some  four, 
some  more,  some  less.  Now,  they  are  so  unfortunate,  that,  of  these  three 
or  four  selected  laws,  there  is  not  one  which  has  not  been  contradicted 
and  disavowed,  not  only  by  one  nation,  but  by  several.  .  .  .  Nothing  in 
the  world  varies  so  greatly  as  law  and  custom.  A  thing  is  called  abom- 
inable in  one  place,  and  in  another  is  praised ;  as,  in  Lacedsemonia,  clever 
thieving  was  admired.  Marriages  between  near  relatives  are  strictly 
forbidden  among  us :  elsewhere  they  are  regarded  as  honorable.  Murder, 
parricide,  sexual  intercourse,  traffic  in  stolen  goods,  licentiousness  of 
every  sort,  —  there  is  no  extreme  which  has  not  been  accepted  by  some 
nation  as  common  custom."2 

Yet  this  same  Montaigne,  who  delighted  in  this  kind  of 
contradiction,  has  elsewhere  written  these  noble  words, 
which  condemn  the  preceding  lines :  "  The  laws  of  natural 
and  universal  justice,  as  it  is  in  the  abstract,  are  very  differ- 
ent from  those  of  our  special,  national,  police  justice,  deter- 
mined by  necessity,  and  are  far  nobler  than  these."  3 

Pascal,  as  every  one  knows,  has  also  taken  up  this  thesis 
of  Montaigne's,  and  has  almost  borrowed  his  very  words, 
adding  in  that  proud,  bold,  and  contemptuous  tone  which 
he  always  uses,  and  which  is  almost  his  mark  — 

"  If  men  understood  what  justice  is,  they  would  never  have  formed 
that  maxim,  the  most  generally  current  of  all ;  '  Let  every  one  follow  the 
customs  of  his  country.'  The  glory  of  true  equity  would  have  subdued 
all  nations ;  and  legislators  would  not  have  taken  for  models  the  caprices 
of  Persians  and  Germans,  instead  of  this  eternal  justice.     We  should 

1  In  old  times,  Carneades  made  use  of  this  same  argument.  See  Cicero, 
De  Republica. 

2  Montaigne,  Essais,  1,  ii.,  c.  xii.  8  Montaigne,  Essais,  1,  iii.,  c.  i. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  311 

have  seen  it  established  among  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  and  in  all 
ages  ;  whereas  now  there  is  hardly  any  idea  of  justice  or  injustice  which 
does  not  change  with  the  climate.  Three  degrees  of  latitude  reverse  all 
jurisprudence.  The  meridian  decides  the  truth.  Right  has  its  epochs. 
The  entrance  of  Saturn  into  the  sign  of  the  lion  marks  the  origin  of  a 
certain  crime.  Wonderful  justice  which  is  bounded  by  a  river  !  Truth 
on  this  side  of  the  Pyrenees,  error  on  that ! "  * 

The  contemporaneous  materialistic  school  could  not  fail  to 
avail  itself  of  this  sort  of  common  bond  of  union;  and,  in 
developing  this,  it  has  made  use  of  the  testimony  of  the  most 
recent  travellers.  According  to  Dr.  Buchner,  savage  nations 
are  destitute  of  any  moral  character,  and  commit  the  most 
atrociously  cruel  actions  without  any  remorse.  They  have 
little,  if  any,  idea  of  the  rights  of  property.  According  to 
Capt.  Montravel,  the  inhabitants  of  New  Caledonia  divide 
every  thing  they  have  with  every  new-comer.2  Theft,  assas- 
sination, revenge,  are  every-day  matters  with  them.  In  the 
Indies,  there  is  a  terrible  association  —  that  of  the  Thugs  — 
with  whom  assassination  is  a  religious  practice.  The  Dama- 
ras,  a  tribe  in  Southern  Africa,  have  no  idea  what  incest  is. 
According  to  Brehm,  the  negroes  in  the  Soudan  not  only 
excuse  fraud,  theft,  and  murder,  but  even  regard  these  acts 
as  quite  estimable.  Falsehood  and  deceit  seem  to  them  the 
triumph  of  intellectual  superiority  over  stupidity.  The  cap- 
tain says  that  the  Somalis  (on  the  Gulf  of  Aden)  prefer  a 
well-managed  fraud  to  any  other  means  of  gaining  a  support. 
Among  the  Tidichees,  murder  is  regarded  as  a  glorious  action. 
Werner-Munzig  (The  Laws  and  Customs  of  the  Bogas)  says, 
that,  among  these  tribes,  revenge,  dissimulation  of  hatred 
until  the  favorable  moment  for  vengeance,  politeness,  pride, 

1  Perishes  de  Pascal,  ed.  Havet,  p.  37.  But  Pascal  himself  does  not  utterly 
deny  the  existence  of  natural  laws,  for  he  adds  ;  "  Undoubtedly  there  are 
natural  laws  ;  but  this  noble  reason,  itself  corrupted,  has  corrupted  every 
tiling."  In  other  words,  original  sin  has  spoiled  every  thing.  Very  good  ; 
but  the  materialistic  school  adopts  the  argument  as  adapted  to  its  own  pur- 
poses, and  leaves  out  the  corrective. 

2  This  is  a  rather  singular  example  to  be  chosen  as  a  proof  of  the  immorality 
of  savages. 


312  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

indolence,  contempt  for  labor,  generosity,  hospitality,  love 
of  show,  and  prudence,  are  the  characteristics  of  a  virtuous 
man.  Waitz  (Anthropology  of  Nations  in  a  State  of  Nature) 
says  that  a  certain  savage,  when  questioned  as  to  the  differ- 
ence between  good  and  evil,  replied ;  "  Good  is  when  we  carry 
off  other  people's  wives :  evil  is  when  they  carry  off  ours." 
The  negroes  in  Cuba,  according  to  the  Count  de  Goertz 
( Voyage  around  the  World),  are  of  the  vilest  character,  and 
have  no  moral  sentiments.  A  bestial  instinct  or  a  shrewd 
cunning  are  the  only  motives  of  their  actions.  They  regard 
as  weakness  the  generosity  and  kindness  of  the  whites. 
Nothing  but  force  makes  any  impression  upon  them:  the 
whip  is  the  only  efficacious  means  of  punishment.  .  .  .  They 
eat  like  wild  beasts.     Another  person  says  — 

"  I  have  often  endeavored  to  gain  some  insight  into  the  souls  of  the 
negroes.  It  was  always  lost  trouble.  It  is  clear  that  the  negro  is  endowed 
with  little  intelligence,  and  that  all  his  thoughts  and  his  actions  bear  the 
stamp  of  the  lowest  degree  of  human  development."  * 

Following  the  development  of  the  sceptical  argument,  from 
the  time  of  Carneades  and  Montaigne  to  our  own  days,  we 
shall  see,  that,  while  it  has  not  changed  much  in  substance, 
the  details  have  been  amplified.  The  facts  and  examples 
quoted  are  much  more  numerous,  and  experience  daily  adds 
to  them.  To  use  the  language  of  the  schools,  the  major 
term  remains  the  same ;  but  the  minor  has  become  a  vast 
battle-field,  which  grows  larger  from  day  to  day.  In  a  word, 
M.  Littre*  tells  us  that  the  problem  has  entered  upon  its  posi- 
tive phase.  Instead  of  confining  themselves  to  two  or  three 
constantly  reiterated  assertions,  they  now  begin  to  quote 
the  results  of  a  science  which  is  indeed  new,  and  still  some- 
what hypothetical,  but  which  is  gradually  developing  —  the 
science  of  anthropology.     On  the  other  hand,  the  history  of 

1  Dr.  Buchner  forgets  to  tell  us  the  name  of  the  author  who  has  endeavored 
to  gain  an  insight  into  the  souls  of  the  negroes,  and  has  seen  such  hideous 
things.  Consult  on  this  same  question  the  recent  work  by  Lubbock,  Origin 
>of  Civilization. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  313 

moral,  religious,  and  philosophical  ideas  has  made  great  prog- 
ress in  our  days.  We  may,  then,  hope  that  it  will  soon  be 
possible  to  discuss,  in  a  truly  scientific  manner,  this  serious 
question.  I  shall  make  use  of  these  various  sources  in  the 
following  discussion. 


The  sceptical  argument  against  the  moral  unity  of  the 
human  race  may  be  summed  up  in  two  propositions :  among 
savage  nations,  there  is  no  morality ;  among  civilized  nations, 
the  morality  is  contradictory.  We  will  examine  successively 
these  two  points.  When  we  consider  the  customs  of  savage 
tribes,  which  have  no  history  and  no  written  memorials,  the 
only  authority  at  command  for  attaining  any  result  is  that 
of  travellers.  Without  desiring  to  depreciate  this  authority, 
which  is  one  of  the  necessary  foundations  of  anthropological 
science,  it  will  be  wise  and  prudent  not  to  trust  to  it  impli- 
citly and  unreservedly.  While  philosophy  needs  to  borrow 
its  materials  from  the  natural  sciences,  it  has  both  the  right 
and  the  duty  to  use  them  with  discernment ;  and  although 
it  cannot  decide  without  facts,  yet  the  ultimate  interpretation 
of  the  facts  belongs  to  it. 

I.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  well  known  to  those  who  have 
read  many  accounts  of  travels,  that  the  observation  of  morals 
is  not  generally  the  thing  in  which  travellers  are  principally 
interested.  Zoology,  botany,  and  physical  geography  find 
in  them  earnest,  well-prepared,  and  careful  students ;  and  in 
these  matters  one  may  safely  trust  the  writings  of  travellers : 
but  moral  observations  always  form  the  most  insignificant 
part  of  their  reports.  Add  to  this,  that  travellers  are  gener- 
ally prepared  for  observations  in  the  physical  sciences  by 
extensive  knowledge,  but  very  few  of  them  have  the  psycho- 
logical knowledge  necessary  for  good  observations  of  this  sort, 
or  even  for  understanding  clearly  what  they  should  observe. 
Thus,  in  this  matter,  they  adopt  a  sort  of  empiricism,  with 
no  fixed  and  sure  method,  very  much  like  that  which  would 


314  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

be  followed  by  a  man  who  should  attempt  to  describe  the 
flora  and  fauna  of  the  countries  visited  by  him,  while  igno- 
rant of  natural  history,  or  knowing  only  its  elements.  Trav- 
ellers set  out  with  fixed  programmes,  with  well-formulated 
scientific  problems,  in  regard  to  all  the  physical  conditions 
of  the  country  which  they  are  to  traverse.  But  has  any 
traveller  ever  set  out,  with  a  well-arranged  programme,  to 
study  with  precision  and  in  detail  the  differences  and  points 
of  resemblance  between  primitive  and  civilized  peoples,  from 
the  stand-point  of  morality  and  religion  ? 

Starting  in  such  a  mental  attitude,  is  it  not  certain  that 
the  attention  of  travellers  will  be  attracted  by  differences 
rather  than  by  analogies?  Few  ever  think  of  noting  what 
there  is  in  common  between  inferior  and  superior  races,  for 
these  analogies  seem  so  natural  that  it  appears  to  be  unneces- 
sary to  mention  them.  If  one  sees  a  mother  caress  her  child, 
he  will  take  good  care  not  to  mention  that ;  for  he  would  be 
told  that  there  was  no  need  to  go  so  far  to  see  such  a  sight. 
To  make  his  travels  interesting,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should 
tell  of  extraordinary  things ;  and,  especially  in  morals,  his 
attention  will  be  attracted  by  monstrosities.  Add  to  this 
the  difficulty  of  ascertaining  the  moral  condition  of  these 
people,  who  cannot  analyze  themselves,  who  have  few,  if 
any,  abstract  ideas,  and  whose  language  is  incapable  of 
expressing  such  ideas. 

"  For  instance  [says  M.  de  Quatrefages  quite  justly],  the  Australian 
languages  have  no  words  by  which  to  translate  honesty,  justice,  sin,  crime  : 
but  this  is  merely  due  to  the  poverty  of  their  language,  and  is  the  same  in 
physical  as  in  moral  matters.  In  the  same  languages,  there  is  no  generic 
word,  such  as  tree,  bird,  Jish;  and  some  persons  have  concluded  from 
this,  that  the  Australians  make  no  distinction  between  those  objects." 

It  must  also  be  remarked,  that  the  observation  of  the 
customs  of  a  country  can  rarely  be  made  impartially  by  a 
stranger.     This  is  true,  even  of  civilized  countries,1  and  yet 

1  For  instance,  in  his  original  and  clever  book,  Die  Familie,  a  German 
author,  Mr.  Riehl,  states,  as  a  notorious  fact,  that  the  French  have  no  idea  of 
family  life. 


UNIVERSALITY   OF  MORAL   PRINCIPLES.  315 

more  so  of  savage  nations.  People  are  always  more  struck 
and  annoyed  by  the  differences  in  customs,  which  are  at 
once  apparent,  than  by  the  analogies,  which  are  seen  only 
after  a  long  time,  and  after  a  growing  familiarity.  For  in- 
stance, try  to  make  a  German  or  an  Englishman  understand 
that  the  city  of  Paris  is  not  wholly  devoted  to  the  pursuit 
of  pleasure ;  that  there  exists  in  it  family  life,  gravity, 
serious  manners :  you  will  not  succeed.  If  such  errors  are 
possible  in  regard  to  a  country  like  France,  how  will  it  be 
when  the  population  of  the  Soudan  or  of  Polynesia  is  in 
question  ? 

Moreover,  among  these  primitive  peoples  a  stranger  is 
almost  always  regarded  as  an  enemy ;  and  this  hostile  dispo- 
sition is  not  always  the  result  of  ferocity,  but  often  of  a 
very  natural  and  even  proper  suspicion.  As  it  is  difficult 
for  them  to  comprehend  disinterested  scientific  curiosity, 
they  naturally  regard  the  stranger  as  a  spy,  one  who  is 
contriving  plots  against  them ;  and  most  certainly  the  con- 
duct of  the  whites  toward  savage  tribes  has  generally  given 
but  too  good  reason  for  the  suspicion  everywhere  felt.  But, 
if  the  stranger  is  an  enemy,  what  can  be  more  natural  than 
the  persecutions,  the  barbarity,  the  oppression,  of  which  he 
is  the  victim  ?  Only,  it  may  be  inquired  whether  he  is  in 
the  best  position  for  observing  the  customs  of  those  who 
may  at  any  moment  put  him  to  death. 

Thus  there  are  many  things  which  may  diminish,  to  a 
certain  extent,  the  value  of  the  testimony  of  travellers, 
when  this  seems  too  unfavorable  to  savage  tribes.  It  is  the 
same  with  conquering  races,  which,  when  brought  into  con- 
tact with  inferior  ones,  are  always  more  or  less  inclined  to 
regard  them  as  wild  beasts,  and  to  treat  them  as  such.  The 
red-skins  are,  in  fact,  wild  beasts,  toward  their  neighbors,  the 
whites ;  but  how  could  they  be  any  thing  else  ?  And  does 
not  a  war  which  lasts  a  long  time,  even  if  between  civilized 
nations,  always  end  by  transforming  men  into  wild  beasts? 
However  this  may  be,  testimony  given  under  such  influences 


316  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

of  hatred  and  contempt,  has  little  resemblance  to  scientific 
observations. 

Moreover,  in  citing  facts  to  prove  that  there  is  no  moral- 
ity among  savages,  two  very  distinct  kinds  of  facts  are 
confounded  —  customs  and  opinions.  If  bad  customs  exist 
among  a  people,  must  we  necessarily  conclude  that  they 
have  no  ideas  of  morality  ?  No,  but  that  they  do  not  obey 
them.  Among  some  nations  we  find  incredible  wicked- 
nesses. Does  the  fault  lie  in  their  moral  ideas?  No,  but 
only  in  their  passions.  A  country  in  Europe  is  celebrated, 
justly  or  unjustly,  for  the  laxity  of  its  morals.  Must  we 
believe,  that,  in  that  country,  libertinism  and  adultery  are 
regarded  as  more  legitimate  than  elsewhere ;  that  purity  is 
blamed  and  condemned  by  their  standard  of  morals  ?  Not 
at  all :  this  nation  has  a  lesser  degree  of  practical  morality 
than  others ;  that  is  all.  It  is  with  nations  as  with  individ- 
uals :  they  are  more  or  less  honest,  more  or  less  moral,  more 
or  less  vicious.  But  since  there  are  vicious  individuals  who 
even  lose  consciousness  of  their  vices,  must  we  therefore 
conclude  that  there  is  no  difference  between  good  and  evil  ? 
Here  one  should  appeal  only  to  those  universal  facts  which 
are  common  to  a  whole  country,  to  a  whole  century ;  which 
are  accepted  by  the  government,  by  religion,  by  the  public 
conscience.  This  distinction  is  not  always  made.  People 
speak  of  the  Chinese  giving  their  children  to  swine,  to  be 
eaten  by  them ;  but,  even  if  this  be  true  (and  it  seems  to 
be  very  doubtful),1  what  does  it  prove  but  a  great  perver- 
sion of  natural  feelings  in  that  country,  caused,  no  doubt, 
by  extreme  misery  ?     Let  them  show  us  a  law  which  com- 

1  The  Rev.  Mr.  Milne,  an  Englishman  who  lived  for  twenty  years  in 
China,  residing  in  the  interior,  and  being  familiar  with  Chinese  manners,  and 
who  also  travelled  a  great  deal  in  that  country,  affirms,  that,  during  all  this 
time,  he  never  saw  nor  heard  of  a  single  instance  of  this  barbarous  practice. 
He  conjectures  that  such  a  thing  may  have  been  done  during  some  period  of 
famine,  and  that  a  general  law  was  fabricated  out  of  what  was  really  an 
odious  exception.  How  many  prejudices  of  this  sort  disappear  when  the  facts 
are  carefully  examined  !    Livingstone  tells  us,  that  in  Africa,  the  country  of 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  317 

mands,  or  even  permits,  this  atrocity.  Let  them  show  a 
single  passage  from  Confucius  or  Mencius  which  advises 
parents,  when  in  distress,  to  get  rid  of  their  children  in  this 
way.  This  would  be  an  argument  against  the  universality 
of  the  moral  law,  but  the  mere  fact  proves  nothing.  Locke 
himself  admits  this: 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  objected  [he  says],  that  it  is  no  argument  that 
the  rule  is  not  known  because  it  is  broken.  I  grant  the  objection  good, 
where  men,  though  they  transgress,  yet  disown  not  the  law.  .  .  .  But  it 
is  impossible  to  conceive  that  a  whole  nation  of  men  should  all  publicly 
reject  and  renounce  what  every  one  of  them,  certainly  and  infallibly, 
knew  to  be  a  law." 1 

Very  well :  then,  when  we  cite  any  custom  of  the  savages, 
we  must  carefully  examine  whether  it  is  a  corruption,  more 
or  less  general,  but  not  sanctioned,  or  whether  it  is  a  publicly 
accepted  principle.  Thus,  for  instance,  duelling  is  unques- 
tionably a  savage  custom,  which  has  had  many  victims  in 
modern  times ;  yet  it  has  always  been  condemned  by  moral- 
ists and  by  religion,  and  the  laws  have  done  every  thing  in 
their  power  to  prevent  it.  Even  those  who  obey  its  melan- 
choly code  are  the  first  to  admit,  that,  except  in  a  very  small 
number  of  cases  for  which  no  other  mode  of  obtaining 
justice  suffices,  this  custom  is  as  absurd  as  it  is  odious.2 

In  other  cases  it  must  be  observed  that  the  very  fact  that 
the  act  in  question  is  prescribed  and  regulated  by  the  law, 
takes  from  it  the  significance  which  it  would  have  were  it 
the  result  of  a  universal  and  spontaneous  practice.  For 
instance,  larceny  was  permitted  in  Sparta:  must  we  con- 
clude from  this,  that  in  Sparta  there  was  no  idea  of  the  rights 

the  negroes,  he  never  knew  a  single  instance  of  parents  selling  their  children. 
And  yet  we  are  constantly  told  that  this  is  very  common,  and  it  is  therefore 
concluded  that  these  poor  creatures  have  no  idea  of  family  affection.  Thus 
philosophy  is  made  the  dupe  of  slave-dealers. 

1  Locke,  Essay  Concerning  Human  Understanding,  book  i.,  chap,  iii.,  §  xi. 

2  I  will  add  that  the  custom  of  duelling  has  retained  its  hold  so  long,  only 
because  it  contains  some  elements  of  nobility  —  death  faced  with  courage,  the 
sentiment  of  honor,  which  no  positive  law  could  defend  so  efficaciously,  etc. 


318  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

of  property  ?  The  contrary  is  clear ;  for  larceny  could  have 
been  permitted,  only  where  rights  of  property  existed  and 
were  recognized.  Does  it  follow  from  this  custom  that 
theft  in  general  would  be  considered  legitimate?  Not  at 
all :  for  it  is  clear,  that  in  this  case  larceny,  being  permitted 
by  the  mutual  consent  of  the  thief  and  the  citizens,  would 
lose  the  character  of  robbery ;  for,  if  I  agree  that  you  may 
take  something  from  me,  it  is  plain  that  you  do  not  steal  it. 
The  Spartans,  to  train  the  citizens  to  skill  in  war,  permitted 
this  kind  of  game,  which  was  undoubtedly  subject  to  definite 
rules.  It  would  be  equally  correct  to  say,  that  in  Rome  no 
distinction  between  master  and  slave  was  recognized,  be- 
cause during  the  Saturnalia  the  relation  between  them  was 
reversed. 

We  must  also  leave  out  of  the  debate  all  those  customs, 
manners,  and  laws,  in  which  different  peoples  differ,  on  ac- 
count of  their  geographical  situation,  the  climate,  their  tem- 
peraments, etc.,  and  which  have  no  connection  with  morality. 
Morality  does  not  require  that  all  individuals  shall  be  ex- 
actly alike :  neither  does  it  require  the  identity  of  all  races 
and  peoples.  Since  nature  never  made  two  individuals 
exactly  alike,  since  such  absolute  similitude  would  even, 
according  to  Leibnitz,  be  impossible,  moral  laws  cannot 
require  what  the  nature  of  things  renders  impossible. 
Hence,  under  the  same  moral  law,  each  one  could  have  his 
own  private  character,  his  manner  of  life,  his  temperament, 
his  habits,  and  his  pleasures.  Why  should  it  not  be  the 
same  with  different  peoples  ?  Morality  does  not  forbid  me 
to  be  cheerful,  nor  my  neighbor  to  be  grave  and  melancholy. 
So  there  are  also  peoples  which  have  a  light,  bright,  cheer- 
ful imagination,  loving  pleasure,  festivals,  and  dances  —  in 
a  word,  loving  the  joys  of  life.  Other  peoples  are  harsh, 
grave,  ardent  workers,  loving  austerity.  These  last  treat 
the  former  as  frivolous:  the  others  in  their  turn  regard 
these  as  barbarians.  The  wise  man  will  see  that  these  differ- 
ing qualities  are  legitimate,  and  produce  a  happy  diversity 


/ 

UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES^  31#  ***  "  ^  *" 

in  the  human  species.  He  will  require  that  a  peope  shall 
not  be  too  ready  to  forsake  their  primitive  and  original 
ways.  From  this  natural  diversity  of  characters  and  tastes, 
as  well  as  from  the  diversity  of  climates,  and  of  what  is  now 
called  the  environment,  there  arise  among  different  peoples 
different  habits,  customs,  and  laws,  which  find  here  their 
explanation,  and  the  reason  for  their  existence.  In  this 
sense  nothing  can  be  more  reasonable  than  that  maxim 
which  so  horrified  Pascal :  "  Let  each  follow  the  customs  of 
his  country,"  the  corollary  of  which,  well  known  to  travel- 
lers, is,  that  each  should  follow  the  customs  of  the  foreign 
country  which  he  visits.  This  maxim  is  in  no  way  opposed 
to  morality  :  it  is  even  a  moral  maxim,  for  nothing  could  be 
more  unjust  than  to  offend  the  sensibilities  of  those  from 
whom  one  receives  hospitality ;  and  it  is  certainly  wise,  if  not 
obligatory,  to  live  like  other  men,  at  least  so  far  as  this  in- 
volves nothing  wrong.  The  idea  of  an  absolute  uniformity 
of  manners  among  all  the  nations  in  the  world,  is  an  abstract 
conception,  like  that  of  a  universal  language.  Morality  does 
not  require  that  all  men  should  speak  one  language  :  neither 
does  it  require  that  they  should  all  dress,  eat,  amuse  them- 
selves and  govern  themselves,  in  the  same  way.  Much  must 
be  left  to  nature.  The  error  of  certain  philosophers,  which 
is  shared  also  by  Montaigne  and  by  Pascal,  is,  that  they 
believe  that  all  differences  result  from  caprice  and  fantasy  ; 
but  diversity,  as  well  as  unity,  is  the  daughter  of  nature. 
Plants  change  their  aspect,  their  bearing,  their  color,  ac- 
cording to  the  climate  in  which  they  live.  Why  should  it 
be  otherwise  with  humanity  ? 

It  is  easy,  as  we  have  seen,  to  explain  why  the  accounts 
furnished  us  of  the  customs  of  inferior  races  are  generally 
unfavorable,  and  seem  to  indicate  the  results  already  stated. 
Yet  a  more  attentive  study  of  the  accounts  given  by  travel- 
lers would,  I  think,  make  the  balance  even,  and  would 
show  us  that  good  and  evil  are  mingled  among  all  peoples 
as  they  are  in  our  own.     I  do  not  doubt  that  an  impartial 


320  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

examination  would  prove  that  the  moral  ideas  of  savage  or 
semi-civilized  peoples  are  superior  to  those  which  are  gener- 
ally attributed  to  them.  Here  I  can  only  indicate  some 
points  in  the  picture  which  is  yet  to  be  made.  This  sketch, 
drawn  lightly  from  casual  reading,  may  indicate  what  would 
be  the  result  of  stricter  and  more  systematic  study. 

The  population  of  the  Soudan  and  of  Senegambia  is  not 
composed  of  what  can  properly  be  called  savage  tribes. 
They  occupy  an  intermediate  position  between  the  savage 
and  the  civilized  conditions.  They  are  agricultural  and 
commercial,  which  is  one  step  toward  civilizatign ;  they  have 
a  tolerable  police ;  finally,  their  relations  with  the  Arabs  and 
the  Moors  have  given  them  a  sort  of  religious,  and  even 
intellectual,  culture.  Yet  they  belong  to  the  black  race  — 
that  race,  destitute,  as  we  are  told,  of  all  moral  sentiments,, 
and  hardly  higher  than  the  brutes,  as  is  claimed  by  those 
who  have  seen  it  only  in  a  state  of  slavery.  This  is  not  the 
opinion  of  those  who  have  studied  it  in  its  native  country : 
we  have,  in  regard  to  this,  the  testimony  of  two  of  the  most 
distinguished  travellers  of  modern  times  —  Mungo  Park  and 
Dr.  Livingstone.  The  former  observed  the  negro  race  in  its 
highest  stage  of  development ;  the  latter,  on  the  contrary,  at 
a  very  inferior  stage  of  civilization,  hardly  raised  at  all  above 
the  state  of  nature.  Both  agree  that  the  black  race  has  been 
calumniated,  and  that  this  has  been  done  in  the  interest  of 
a  plague-spot  and  a  leprosy  which  is  the  chief  cause  of  the 
very  degradation  alleged  in  its  justification. 

No  accusation  against  the  negroes  is  more  frequent  and 
wide-spread  than  that  of  indolence.  For  a  long  time  this 
was  the  favorite  argument  of  the  defenders  of  slavery,  as  it 
still  is  of  those  who  lament  its  abolition.  Mungo  Park  has 
written  in  contradiction  of  this  reproach.,  He  says  that  the 
nature  of  the  climate  is  undoubtedly  unfavorable  to  great 
exertions ;  but  can  we  call  a  people  indolent  when  they  live, 
not  upon  the  spontaneous  productions  of  the  soil,  but  upon 
those  which  they  wrest  from  it  by  cultivation?     Very  few 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  321 

people  work  more  energetically,  when  it  is  necessary,  than  do 
the  Mandingo ; x  but,  as  they  have  no  occasion  to  make  mer- 
chandise of  the  superfluous  products  of  their  labor,  they  are 
satisfied  with  cultivating  as  much  land  as  is  necessary  for 
their  maintenance.2  In  his  interesting  abridgment  of  the  dis- 
coveries made  in  the  region  of  the  Niger  and  Central  Africa, 
M.  de  Lanoye  3  cites  several  remarkable  instances  of  the  energy 
and  activity  of  the  negroes.  Each  year,  for  instance,  bands 
of  negroes  descend  from  the  interior  of  Africa  to  the  Euro- 
pean settlements  in  Senegambia,  labor  energetically  in  culti- 
vating ground-nuts,  then,  when  the  harvest  is  over,  carry 
the  product  back  to  their  families,  two  or  three  hundred 
leagues  distant,  and  return  the  following  year.  Others 
engage  as  pilots  for  the  coast,  and,  after  a  few  years  of  tre- 
mendous toil,  return  home  to  live  at  their  ease.  Such  is  the 
idleness  of  the  negroes  when  they  have  not  been  imbruted 
by  slavery. 

Another  tendency  of  which  semi-savage  peoples  have  been 
most  frequently  accused,  is  that  to  theft.  Mungo  Park,  in 
spite  of  his  sympathy  for  these  people,  is  obliged  to  confess 
that  his  black  friends  had  an  irresistible  desire  to  steal  from 
him  every  thing  he  possessed.     But  he  adds ; 

"For  this  part  of  their  conduct,  no  complete  justification  can  be 
offered;  because  theft  is  a  crime  in  their  ovon  estimation;  and  it  must  be 
observed  that  they  are  not  generally  and  habitually  guilty  of  it  toward 
each  other." 

Thus,  among  these  thieving  peoples,  theft  is  a  crime :  only, 
they  are  unable  to  resist  temptation.  Does  not  the  same 
thing  sometimes  happen  in  civilized  countries  ? 

As  to  the  pillage  and  exactions  to  which  travellers  are 
subjected,  not  merely  by  individuals,  but  also  by  govern- 
ments, by  the  princes,  the  little  potentates,  whose  states  they 

1  One  of  the  great  subdivisions  of  the  negro  race.  They  are  also  called  the 
Malinka. 

2  Mungo  Park,  Travels  in  the  Interior  of  Africa.  8  Le  Niger,  1858. 


322  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

have  had  the  hardihood  to  visit,  a  reflection  has  frequently 
occurred  to  me  which  seems  calculated  to  moderate  our  dis- 
approval. If  we  are  to  believe  one  of  our  travellers,  hardly 
has  he  set  foot  in  one  of  these  barbarous  countries  when  he 
is  deprived  of  almost  all  his  possessions;  nevertheless,  he 
goes  on ;  a  new  sovereign  appears ;  again  he  is  pillaged,  and 
this  continues  during  the  whole  journey.  One  asks  by  what 
miracle  his  baggage,  a  thousand  times  stolen,  continually 
renews  itself,  so  that  it  makes  fresh  exactions  possible ;  and 
one  is  tempted  to  conclude  that  the  traveller  may  have  been 
plundered,  or  even,  to  use  such  an  expression,  skinned  a 
little,  but  not  absolutely  stripped  of  every  thing,  as  would 
be  the  case  if  these  people  had  no  idea  of  the  rights  of  prop- 
erty, and  no  respect  whatever  for  them.1 

Mungo  Park  speaks  of  certain  qualities  of  heart,  some 
noble  and  exalted,  others  refined  and  delicate,  which  exist 
among  these  same  tribes.  The  Feloops,  as  he  calls  them, 
are  violent  and  vindictive ;  but  they  are  also  very  grateful, 
showing  great  affection  for  their  benefactors;  and  they  re- 
store with  admirable  fidelity  whatever  is  intrusted  to  them. 
The  Mandingo,  on  the  contrary,  are  gentle,  hospitable,  and 
kind.  Mungo  Park  bears  especial  testimony  to  the  women, 
and  he  gives  numerous  and  touching  proofs  of  their  sensi- 
bility and  pity.  "I  do  not  recollect,"  he  says,  "a  single 
instance  of  hard-heartedness  towards  me  in  the  women." 
On  this  point  he  confirms  the  testimony  of  one  of  his  prede- 
cessors, Ledyard,  who  said  — 

"  To  a  woman,  I  never  addressed  myself  in  the  language  of  decency 
and  friendship,  without  receiving  a  decent  and  friendly  answer.  ...  In 
so  free  and  kind  a  manner  did  they  contribute  to  my  relief,  that,  if  I  was 
dry,  I  drank  the  sweetest  draught,  and  if  hungry  I  ate  the  coarsest 
morsel  with  a  double  relish." 

1  Suppose  our  custom-house  duties  to  be  levied,  without  law  or  regulation, 
by  an  arbitrary  government,  and  we  shall  have  the  correct  conception  of  these 
exactions  from  the  stranger,  which  are  hateful,  indeed,  but  from  which  we 
cannot  justly  conclude  that  the  powers  which  make  them  are  ignorant  of  the 
distinction  between  mine  and  thine. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  323 

These  were,  nevertheless,  negresses :  could  one  speak  with 
more  emotion  and  more  sympathy  of  our  most  charming 
Europeans  ?  Even  the  poor  slaves,  led  in  chains  to  the  coast, 
whose  caravan  was  accompanied  by  Mungo  Park,  forgot  their 
own  sufferings,  and  strove  to  lessen  his.  He  says  that  they 
often  came  with  water  to  quench  his  thirst,  and  collected 
leaves  to  make  him  a  bed  when  the  caravan  slept  in  the 
open  air. 

What  Mungo  Park  admires  particularly  in  the  Mandingo 
are  their  domestic  virtues  and  sentiments.  In  spite  of  po- 
lygamy, the  women  are  not  held  in  slavery :  their  husbands 
allow  them  a  great  deal  of  liberty,  which  they  never  abuse. 
"I  believe,"  says  Mungo  Park,  "that  instances  of  conjugal 
infidelity  are  not  common."  Maternal  tenderness  is  espe- 
cially strong  among  this  people.  Mungo  Park  cites  a  very 
simple,  but  touching,  instance,  which  he  witnessed  himself. 
One  of  his  travelling  companions  was  a  smith,  who,  having 
laid  up  some  money  by  working  on  the  coast,  was  returning 
to  his  native  village  to  remain  there. 

"  The  blacksmith's  aged  mother  was  led  forth,  leaning  upon  a  staff. 
Every  one  made  way  for  her,  and  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  bid  her 
son  welcome.  Being  totally  blind,  she  stroked  his  hands,  arms,  and  face, 
with  great  care,  and  seemed  highly  delighted  that  her  latter  days  were 
blessed  by  his  return,  and  that  her  ears  once  more  heard  the  music  of  his 
voice.  From  this  interview  I  was  fully  convinced,  that  whatever  differ- 
ence there  is  between  the  Negro  and  the  European  in  the  conformation 
of  the  nose  and  the  color  of  the  skin,  there  is  none  in  the  genuine  sym- 
pathies and  characteristic  feelings  of  our  common  nature."1 

Maternal  tenderness  produces  filial  affection.  One  of  the 
sayings  most  frequently  heard  is  this :  "  Strike  me,  but  do 
not  curse  my  mother."  The  greatest  affront  that  can  be 
offered  to  a  negro  is  to  speak  conxemptuously  of  his  mother. 
Mungo  Park  relates,  that,  having  lost  his  way,  he  received 
hospitality  in  a  hut.  While  he  lay  upon  a  mat,  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  and  her  maid-servants,  improvised  a  song,  which 

i  Mungo  Park,  Travels  in  the  Interior  Districts  of  Africa,  p.  122. 


324  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

had  for  its  theme  the  unfortunate  stranger.  It  was  this: 
"  The  winds  roared  and  the  rain  fell.  The  poor  white  man, 
faint  and  weary,  came  to  rest  under  our  tree.  He  has  no 
mother  to  bring  him  milk,  no  wife  to  grind  him  corn." 
And  in  chorus  all  chanted,  "  Let  us  pity  the  white  man :  no 
mother  has  he."  1 

The  negroes  are  not  incapable  of  the  noblest  and  most 
exalted  virtues.  This  race,  which  is  represented  to  us  as 
deceitful  (and  it  becomes  so  in  slavery),  esteems  nothing 
more  highly  than  veracity.  A  mother  lost  her  son  in  battle. 
She  followed  his  corpse,  sobbing,  and  crjdng  out,  "  He  never, 
never  told  a  lief"  Can  any  thing  be  more  beautiful  than 
this  maternal  cry,  which  is  not  the  animal  regret  of  the 
lioness  or  the  wolf  whose  cubs  have  been  slain,  but  is  a  truly 
moral  lamentation  ?  She  regretted,  not  merely  her  son,  but 
mourned  because  of  his  soul  and  his  virtue  ! 

Let  us  close  the  testimony  of  Mungo  Park  with  a  legend 
or  historical  tale,2  which  shows  that  the  black  races,  even 
those  which  have  rejected  Mahometanism,  are  capable  of 
raising  themselves  to  the  highest  moral  stand-point.  A 
Moorish  sovereign  attempted  to  force  one  of  the  negro  kings, 
named  Darnel,  to  accept  the  Mahometan  religion.  This 
caused  a  war  between  the  two  princes,  in  which  the  negro 
was  victorious.  His  enemy  was  brought  before  him  in 
chains. 

"  *  Abd-ul-Kader,  answer  me  this  question.  If  the  chance  of  war  had 
placed  me  in  your  situation,  and  you  in  mine,  how  would  you  have 
treated  me?'  —  'I  would  have  thrust  my  spear  into  your  heart,'  returned 
Abd-ul-Kader  with  great  firmness;  'and  I  know  that  a  similar  fate 
awaits  me.'  —  'Not  so/  said  Darnel:  'my  spear  is  indeed  red  with  the 
blood  of  your  subjects,  killed  in  battle ;  and  I  could  now  give  it  a  deeper 
stain  by  dipping  it  in  your  own ;  but  this  would  not  build  up  my  towns, 
nor  bring  to  life  the  thousands  who  fell  in  the  war.     I  will  not,  there- 

1  Mungo  Park,  Travels  in  the  Interior  Districts  of  Africa,  p.  296. 

2  Mungo  Park  affirms  that  this  story  was  related  to  him  as  an  historical, 
and  even  a  recent,  fact.  But,  if  merely  a  legend,  it  would  prove  a  high  stand- 
point  of  morality. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  325 

fore,  kill  you  in  cold  blood,  but  I  will  retain  you  as  my  slave,  until  I 
perceive  that  your  presence  in  your  own  kingdom  will  be  no  longer  dan- 
gerous to  your  neighbors,  and  then  I  will  consider  of  the  proper  way  of 
disposing  of  you.'  Abd-ul-Kader  was  accordingly  retained,  and  worked 
as  a  slave,  for  three  months,  at  the  end  of  which  period  Darnel  .  .  . 
restored  to  them  their  king." 

This  act  ot  clemency  was  undoubtedly  related  to  Mungo 
Park  as  a  surprising  fact ;  but  is  not  the  clemency  of  Augustus 
celebrated  among  us  as  a  marvellous  thing?  And  is  the 
pardoning  of  offences  a  virtue  which  is  very  commonly 
practised,  even  by  Christians? 

The  tribes  visited  by  Dr.  Livingstone,  in  the  south  of 
Africa,  are  very  much  below  the  inhabitants  of  the  Soudan 
in  point  of  civilization  and  intelligence.  Yet  the  accounts 
given  by  this  distinguished  traveller  leave  much  the  same 
impression  as  the  recitals  of  Mungo  Park,  which  is,  that  the 
negro  races,  seen  in  their  native  country,  are  infinitely 
superior  to  the  same  races  when  reduced  to  slavery.1  Fi- 
nally, although  they  are  much  nearer  the  state  of  nature,  the 
moral  ideas  of  .these  southern  races  do  not  differ  essentially 
from  those  of  civilized  nations. 

"  On  questioning  intelligent  men  among  the  Bakwains  [says  Living- 
stone] as  to  their  former  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  .  .  .  they  pro- 
fess that  nothing  we  indicate  as  sin  ever  appeared  to  them  as  otherwise, 
except  the  statement  that  it  was  wrong  to  have  more  than  one  wife." 

The  manner  in  which  justice  is  administered  among  the 
Makololo  deserves  mention  as  a  remarkable  confirmation  of 
what  Cicero  says  in  regard  to  natural  law,  which  is  not  one 
thing  at  Rome,  and  another  at  Athens,  but  which  we  all 
learn  from  Nature  herself.     It  is  only  in  the  case  of  political 

1  I  do  not  know  upon  what  authority  Dr.  Broca  maintains  that  the  Ameri- 
can negro  is  superior  to  the  African  negro.  Undoubtedly  no  one  could  be 
more  degraded  than  the  black  inhabitants  of  the  coast  of  Guinea;  but  how 
can  any  one  say  that  the  race  which  has  founded  the  great  empires  of  the 
Soudan  is  inferior  to  the  servile  race  in  Cuba,  or  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
United  States  of  America  ? 


326  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

offences  that  justice  among  the  Makololo  employs  summary 
methods,1  says  Livingstone. 

"  In  common  cases  there  is  a  greater  show  of  deliberation.  The  com- 
plainant asks  the  man  against  whom  he  means  to  lodge  his  complaint  to 
come  with  him  to  the  chief.  This  is  never  refused.  When  both  are  in 
the.  kotla,  the  complainant  stands  up  and  states  the  whole  case  before  the 
chief  and  the  people  usually  assembled  there.  He  stands  a  few  seconds 
after  he  has  done  this,  to  recollect  if  he  has  forgotten  any  thing.  The 
witnesses  to  whom  he  has  referred  then  rise  up  and  tell  all  they  them- 
selves have  heard  and  seen,  but  not  any  thing  that  they  have  heard  from 
others.  The  defendant,  after  allowing  some  minutes  to  elapse,  .  .  . 
in  the  most  quiet,  deliberate  way  he  can  assume,  .  .  .  begins  to  explain 
the  affair.  .  .  .  Sometimes,  when  galled  by  his  remarks,  the  complain- 
ant utters  a  sentence  of  dissent :  the  accused  turns  quietly  to  him,  and 
says ;  *  Be  silent ;  I  sat  still  while  you  were  speaking :  can't  you  do  the 
same  ?  Do  you  want  to  have  it  all  to  yourself  ? ' 2  And,  as  the  audience 
acquiesce,  ...  he  goes  on  till  he  has  finished  all  he  has  to  say  in  his  de- 
fence. If  he  has  any  witnesses  to  the  truth  of  the  facts  of  his  defence, 
they  give  their  evidence.  No  oath  is  administered;  but  occasionally, 
when  a  statement  is  questioned,  a  man  will  say,  '  By  my  father,'  or,  '  By 
the  chief,  it  is  so.' " 

They  are  also  (still  on  Livingstone's  authority)  remark- 
ably faithful.  He  says,  that  when  he  was  at  Cassange,  a 
Portuguese  city,  the  men  who  had  accompanied  him,  and 
who  were  Makololo,  came  before  him  for  him  to  settle  a 
dispute  which  had  arisen  among  them. 

"Several  Portuguese,  who  had  been  viewing  the  proceedings  with 
great  interest,  complimented  me  on  the  success  of  my  teaching  them 
how  to  act  in  litigation ;  but  I  could  not  take  any  credit  to  myself  for 
the  system  which  I  had  found  ready  made  to  my  hands.,,  8 

Livingstone,  like  Mungo  Park,  bears  testimony  to  the 
kindly  nature  of  the  negro  matrons.  "  The  Makololo  ladies 
are  liberal  in  their  presents  of  milk  and  other  food,"  and 

1  Livingstone,  Travels  and  Researches  in  South  Africa. 

2  Do  we  not  seem  to  be  listening  to  our  own  deputies  ? 

3  Livingstone,  Travels  and  Researches  in  South  Africa ,  pp.  201,  202. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  327 

exact  but  little  labor  from  their  slaves.  At  a  time  when 
the  Bakwains  were  suffering  from  great  scarcity  of  food,  the 
conduct  of  the  women  was  admirable.  They  parted  with 
their  ornaments  to  buy  grain  from  more  fortunate  tribes. 
Their  maternal  affection  is  very  strong ;  and  I  have  already 
remarked,  that  Livingstone,  during  his  long  residence  among 
them,  never  saw  a  single  instance  of  parents  selling  their 
children  into  slavery,  which  we  have  nevertheless  been  told 
is  a  common  practice. 

Livingstone  concludes  his  remarks  on  the  customs  of  the 
Makololo  with  these  words :  — 

"  After  long  observation,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  they  are  just 
such  a  strange  mixture  of  good  and  evil  as  men  are  everywhere  else.  .  .  . 
There  are  frequent  instances  of  genuine  kindness  and  liberality.  .  .  .  The 
rich  show  kindness  to  the  poor  in  expectation  of  services ;  and  a  poor  per- 
son who  has  no  relatives  will  seldom  be  supplied  even  with  water  in  ill- 
ness, and,  when  dead,  will  be  dragged  out  to  be  devoured  by  the  hyenas 
instead  of  being  buried.  ...  On  the  other  hand,  I  have  seen  instances 
in  which  both  men  and  women  have  taken  up  little  orphans  and  carefully 
reared  them  as  their  own  children.  By  a  selection  of  cases  of  either 
kind,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  make  these  people  appear  excessively 
good  or  uncommonly  bad." 

Is  this  nature  which  Livingstone  describes  that  of  the 
savage  only,  and  not  of  all  mankind? 

Besides  the  negro  races,  the  Australian  tribes  have  been 
favored  by  being  classed  as  equal  with  the  brutes,  in  order 
to  glorify  the  theory  which  makes  man  only  a  transformed 
monkey.  It  has  been  said,  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as 
family  life  among  them :  the  easy  compliance  of  the  women, 
the  indifference  of  the  husbands,  have  been  dwelt  upon.  But 
M.  de  Quatrefages  very  justly  remarks  that  these  instances 
have  all  been  taken  from  the  tribes  living  in  Sydney — tribes 
which  have  been  corrupted  by  civilization,  as  has  too  often 
happened,  both  in  Australia  and  elsewhere.  It  is  not  the 
same  in  other  parts  of  the  country;  and  Dawson  draws  a 
truly  patriarchal  picture  of  the  Australian  family,  in  which 


328  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  wife  plays  a  very  important  part.  They  have  been 
called  a  nomadic  people,  wandering  about  in  groups  com- 
posed of  two  or  three  families,  without  any  trace  of  social 
organization.  Other  travellers,  however,  have  found  among 
them  a  division  into  clans,  and  even  numerous  villages, 
themselves  subdivided  into  tribes  and  families.  They  have 
no  idea  of  the  rights  of  property,  it  is  said;  but  yet  it  is 
found  that  each  tribe  has  its  own  territory,  and  even  each 
family  has  its  own  lands.  Vices  are  imputed  to  them  which 
are  quite  as  frequent  among  civilized  people  as  among  sav- 
ages— revenge,  drunkenness,  licentiousness.  But,  according 
to  other  travellers,  the  Australian  is  susceptible  of  the  ten- 
derest  and  noblest  feelings,  family  affection,  conjugal  love, 
and  gratitude.  Cheated  by  a  white  man,  he  no  longer  trusts 
him,  and  indulges  in  reprisals ;  but  Dawson  affirms  that  he 
acts  with  perfect  good  faith  toward  those  who  have  de- 
served his  confidence.  Cunningham  found,  that,  among 
these  people,  points  of  honor  are  sanctioned  by  genuine 
duels,  in  which  every  thing  is  done  acccording  to  rules 
which  cannot  be  disregarded  without  disgrace.  Notice,  for 
instance,  a  curious  fact  which  M.  de  Quatrefages  reports  on 
the  authority  of  Capt.  Stuart,  and  which  proves  the  chivalric 
spirit  of  those  savages.  Two  Irish  refugees  got  into  a 
quarrel  with  the  natives,  with  whom  they  had  taken  refuge. 
The  Europeans  were  unarmed.  Before  attacking  them,  the 
Australians  furnished  them  weapons  with  which  to  defend 
themselves,  after  which  they  fought  with  and  killed  them.1 

The  Indians  of  the  New  World  have  never  been  placed  so 
low  in  the  scale  as  the  negroes  and  Australians.  Most  people 
have  recognized  in  them,  though  mingled  with  ferocity  and 
perfidy,  nobler  and  more  manly  qualities  than  are  attributed 

1  As  a  shadow  to  this  picture,  it  must  be  added  that  the  Irishmen  were  then 
eaten,  which  is  not  very  chivalric.  But  this,  M.  de  Quatrefages  tells  us,  was 
an  exceptional  case;  for  it  has  been  judicially  affirmed  after  investigatioD, 
that  cannibalism  is  practised  in  only  a  few  places,  scattered  over  the  continent 
of  Australia,  and  that  there  is  no  trace  of  it  throughout  an  extensive  territory 
And  among  numerous  tribes 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  329 

to  the  African  tribes.  A  certain  pride,  and  even  dignity, 
have  been  traditionally  ascribed  to  them.  Certainly  the 
red-skins  are  not  to  be  judged  from  Cooper's  romances;  but, 
after  all,  he  has  not  idealized  them  any  more  than  Corneille 
did  the  Romans.  In  the  MSmoires  of  Malouet,1  recently 
published,  I  find  a  very  interesting  and  clear  description  of 
the  habits  of  the  Indians  of  Guiana.  We  have  not  here, 
indeed,  the  warlike  Apaches,  the  proud  Mohicans,  the  Hu- 
rons,  the  Iroquois,  those  energetic  and  heroic  tribes,  reduced 
little  by  little,  through  want  and  the  constant  advance  of 
the  Europeans,  to  the  condition  of  pillagers,  living  only  by 
brigandage.  They  are  gentle  and  peaceful  tribes,  sedentary 
in  their  habits,  softened,  if  not  conquered,  by  civilization. 
The  picture  which  Malouet  gives  us  of  their  social  condi- 
tion, which  seems  to  be  perfectly  correct,  proves  that  all 
these  undeveloped  peoples  have  not  chosen  the  worst  lot  of 
all  which  man  can  enjoy  upon  the  earth. 

"From  Hudson's  Bay  to  the  Straits  of  Magellan  [says  Malouet], 
these  men,  so  different  in  temperament,  in  features,  in  character,  some 
gentle,  others  fierce,  all  agree  in  one  thing  —  love  for  a  savage  life,  and 
resistance  to  civilization." 

Do  you  call  this  a  proof  of  the  essential  diversity  of  races? 
So  be  it ;  doubtless  races  have  differing  instincts ;  but  civil- 
ization and  morality  are  two  widely  different  things. 

"  Nothing  is  more  striking  to  a  European  [says  Malouet]  than  their 
indifference,  their  aversion  even,  to  our  arts,  our  luxury,  and  our  enjoy- 
ments: ...  we  have  brought  them  into  our  cities  to  show  them  our 
happiness ;  they  were  not  attracted  by  it ;  .  .  .  our  luxury,  our  houses, 
our  jewels,  our  clothing,  our  food,  none  of  these  things  tempted  them ; 
our  despotic  or  servile  police  terrified  them.  A  European  governor  or 
magistrate  occupied  in  administering  the  details  of  civilized  life  seemed 
to  them  a  sultan,  and  we  a  troop  of  slaves.2  Their  chief  passion  is  a  love 
of  independence,  the  distinctive  characteristic  of  all  living  beings." 

1  These  extremely  interesting  Memoires  have  just  been  very  carefully  edited 
by  the  grandson  of  the  author,  Baron  Malouet. 

2  Imagine  a  magistrate  telling  an  Indian  that  he  must  not  build  his  house 


330  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

I  willingly  grant  that  these  poor  Indians  are  mistaken; 
but  is  it  not  a  noble  error  to  prefer  the  free  and  independent 
life  of  the  forests  to  the  elaborate  politeness  of  our  cities  ? 
Love  of  independence  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  human  pas- 
sions, and  the  efforts  of  our  political  science  are  directed 
toward  the  discovery  of  the  means  by  which  to  reconcile  the 
advantages  of  civilized  life  with  the  rights  of  natural  free- 
dom. Are  those  who  sacrifice  the  former  to  the  latter  so 
utterly  in  error  ? 

This  independent  life  of  the  Indians  of  Guiana  is  not, 
however,  the  state  of  nature  of  which  Rousseau  and  the 
philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century  dreamed.1 

"  They  have  a  social  organization ;  they  live  in  families  ;  they  have  a 
national  association,  a  magistrate  or  chief  who  represents  them  in  their 
relations  with  their  neighbors,  and  who  commands  them  in  time  of  war. 
They  need  no  civil  code,  having  neither  lands  nor  legal  proceedings ;  but 
they  follow  religiously  the  habits  and  customs  of  their  ancestors.  They 
have  found  that  equality  for  which  we  have  sought  so  painfully :  they 
maintain  it  without  effort.  .  .  .  Finally  [says  Malouet]  they  are  in  a 
natural  state  of  society,  while  we  are  in  its  political  state."2 

The  same  observer  also  tells  us  that  there  is  less  immoral- 
ity among  them  than  in  our  large  cities.  An  Indian,  unless 
he  is  a  chief,  or  has  been  corrupted,  rarely  has  more  than  one 
young  wife,     When  the  first  grows  old,  he  takes  a  second, 

a  single  foot  farther  forward  than  that  of  his  neighbor  ;  that  he  must  not  pick 
up  the  game  which  he  has  just  killed,  because  it  fell  on  the  other  side  of  a 
hedge  or  a  path,  etc.  All  these  complicated  results,  derived  from  the  princi- 
ples on  which  civil  life  is  founded,  would  certainly  appear  to  him  the  acts  of 
an  absurd  and  odious  despotism.  Fenimore  Cooper,  in  his  old  trapper,  has 
admirably  depicted  this  passion  for  an  independent  mode  of  existence,  and  the 
resistance  of  a  child  of  nature  to  the  encroachments  of  civil  life. 

1  Rousseau  himself,  whatever  may  be  said,  never  represented  the  state  of 
nature  as  being  the  happiest  one  for  man.  What  he  greatly  prefers,  as  he 
says  himself,  is  a  mixed  state,  intermediate  between  that  of  nature  and  that 
of  civilization,  after  the  first  arts  have  been  invented,  and  before  the  vices  of 
civilization  have  been  developed  —  in  a  word,  a  state  precisely  like  that  of  the 
Indians  in  Guiana,  as  described  by  Malouet. 

8  Mtmoires  de  Malouet,  t,  1,  p.  151, 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  331 

so  as  to  have  more  children ;  but  their  households  are  peace- 
able, nevertheless.  The  law  of  the  division  of  functions  is 
never  violated  among  them.  The  husband  hunts,  fishes,  and 
builds:  the  wife  does  the  rest.  She  is  submissive  without 
constraint :  she  pays  her  husband  for  his  protection  by  her 
obedience. 

To  prolong  these  details  would  be  to  introduce  a  treatise 
on  anthropology  or  ethnology,  which  is  not  my  object.  I 
have  said  enough  to  show  that  savage  peoples  are  not  desti- 
tute of  morality.  Good  and  evil  are  united  in  them,  as  in 
more  enlightened  nations;  and,  if  evil  prevails  over  good, 
this  is  due  rather  to  ignorance  and  to  suffering  than  to  any 
alleged  radical  and  essential  moral  incapacity.  If,  indeed, 
we  seek  to  find  the  principal  causes  of  those  immoral  customs 
among  savages  by  which  we  are  horrified,  we  shall  almost 
always  find  them  to  be  want  and  suffering.  Cannibalism,  for 
instance,  originated  in  the  extreme  difficulty  of  finding  a 
sufficient  supply  of  food  in  those  vast,  uncultivated  regions 
whose  ignorant  inhabitants  have  hardly  any  means  of  subsist- 
ence *  except  hunting  and  fishing ;  and  habit  frequently  out- 
lasts the  necessity  which  first  produced  it.  The  barbarous 
custom  of  killing  old  people  when  they  became  infirm,  was 
undoubtedly  caused  at  first  by  the  fear  of  being  obliged  to 
give  up  to  pitiless  enemies  persons  who  were  beloved,  but 
could  no  longer  be  supported.  Hatred  of  enemies,  love  of 
revenge,  implacable  tribal  feuds,  the  massacre  of  prisoners,  — 
criminal  practices,  from  which  civilized  nations  are  not  yet 
entirely  free  —  come  from  rivalry,  and  from  the  struggle  for 
existence  in  a  land  which  is  hardly  able  to  support  one,  and 
which  must  be  shared  by  two,  or  even  by  more.  As  to  the 
absence  of  modesty  and  the  license  of  manners,  not  to  men- 
tion the  fact,  that,  in  these  respects,  civilized  nations  them- 
selves are  not  so  far  superior  to  the  savages  as  they  imagine, 

1  The  finding  of  savage  tribes  which  are  not  cannibals  (and  there  are  many 
of  these)  is  quite  sufficient  proof  that  a  horror  of  anthropophagy  is  a  natural 
human  instinct,  and  not  an  artificial  result  of  civilization. 


332  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

it  may  be  affirmed  that  there  is  no  people,  however  unciv- 
ilized, that  does  not  have  something  more  or  less  like  mar- 
riage. Everywhere  we  find  some  precaution,  some  rule  to 
govern  the  relations  of  the  sexes.  Finally,  if  it  is  true  that 
certain  sentiments,  certain  moral  ideas,  require  civilization 
and  culture  for  their  full  development,  it  must  not,  therefore, 
be  assumed  that  these  sentiments  or  these  ideas  are  not  nat- 
ural; for  the  development  and  perfecting  of  all  our  senti- 
ments is  one  of  the  characteristic  traits  of  human  nature. 

It  is  claimed,  that,  among  savages,  morality  is  merely  the 
result  of  instinct  or  of  interest,  but  that  they  have  no  abso- 
lute and  abstract  idea  of  duty.  No  matter,  for  I  do  not  pre- 
tend that  the  savages  have  reached  the  utmost  height  of 
morality  to  which  man  can  raise  himself:  it  is  enough  if 
they  possess  the  germs  of  morality.1  After  all,  what  is  the 
morality  of  children  at  first  but  instinct,  habit,  and  interest  ? 
Should  we  require  more  of  nations  in  their  childhood  ?  I  am 
willing  to  grant  that  humanity  did  not  at  first  have  a  clearly 
developed  idea  of  duty:  it  is  enough  that  it  has  attained  one. 
Let  us  now  consider  the  ideas  of  morality  which  prevail 
among  civilized  nations,  and  see  if  it  is  true  that  these  are 
so  generally  contradictory. 

i  This  is  the  opinion  of  Leihnitz:  "  It  is  no  great  wonder,"  he  says  in  his 
Nouveaux  Essais  (chap,  xi.),  "  that  men  do  not  always  perceive  immediately 
every  thing  that  they  possess  within  themselves,  and  cannot  read  at  once  the 
characters  of  the  moral  law  which  God  has  written  in  their  hearts,  as  St.  Paul 
says.  Yet,  as  morality  is  more  important  than  arithmetic,  God  has  given  men 
instincts,  which  at  once,  without  any  reasoning,  lead  them  to  do  some  of  the 
things  which  reason  commands.  Thus  we  walk,  according  to  the  laws  of 
physics,  without  thinking  of  those  laws;  and  we  eat,  not  only  "because  it  is 
necessary,  hut  also,  and  still  more,  "because  it  gives  us  pleasure.  Though 
there  may  not,  perhaps,  be  any  evil  practice  which  has  not  been  authorized 
somewhere  and  under  some  circumstances,  yet  there  are  few  which  have  not 
been  condemned  more  frequently,  and  by  the  greater  part  of  mankind.  Custom, 
tradition,  and  law,  all  have  a  share  in  regulating  this;  but  it  is  nature  ichich 
causes  custom  to  take  generally  the  right  side  in  regard  to  these  duties.  Nature 
also  gave  rise  to  the  tradition  of  the  existence  of  God.  Now,  nature  gives 
to  man,  and  even  to  most  animals,  affection  and  kindness  toward  those  of  the  same 
species.  After  this  general  social  instinct,  which  in  man  may  be  termed  phil- 
anthropy, there  come  other  special  affections,  such  as  that  between  the  male 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  333 

II.  Some  are  surprised  to  see  so  great  a  difference  in  the 
opinions  and  customs  of  peoples  who  seem  to  belong  to  the 
same  race.  But,  in  my  opinion,  one  should  rather  be  sur- 
prised to  see  how,  amid  such  great  differences  in  time,  place, 
and  material  circumstances,  man  has  yet  been  everywhere 
so  nearly  the  same.  It  is  only  natural  that  the  difference 
in  environment  and  in  physical  conditions,  together  with 
historical  and  geographical  circumstances,  should  cause  great 
differences  in  ways  of  thinking;  but  the  really  wonderful 
thing  seems  to  be,  that  these  differences  are  not  greater,  and 
that  in  so  many  races,  different  from  each  other,  and  without 
inter-communication,  there  should  be  found,  after  all,  a  basis 
of  essential  morality  which  is  nearly  the  same  with  all  men, 
so  soon  as  they  have  attained  a  certain  degree  of  civilization. 
The  moral  legislators  of  the  Hindoos,  the  Chinese,  the  Per- 
sians, the  Hebrews,  and  the  Greeks,  have  all  formed  strik- 
ingly similar  ideas  of  human  morality ;  and  the  more  closely 
we  study  the  civilization  of  these  different  peoples,  the  more 
clearly  we  see  similitude  in  diversity,  the  more  numerous 
we  find  to  be  the  ideas  held  in  common  amid  all  apparent 
contradictions. 

I  will  not  pause  to  prove  that  all  the  European  nations  — 


and  the  female,  the  love  of  fathers  and  mothers  for  their  children,  which  the 
Greeks  call  oropyV,  and  other  similar  feelings,  which  form  that  natural  code, 
or,  rather,  that  ideal  of  right  which  nature,  according  to  the  Roman  juris- 
consults, has  implanted  in  animals.  Finally,  can  it  be  denied  that  man  has  a 
natural  impulse  to  turn  away  from  filthy  things,  for  the  reason  merely  that 
there  are  people  who  delight  in  foul  language,  that  there  are  others  whose 
business  obliges  them  to  handle  manures,  or  that  there  are  tribes  in  Bootan 
which  regard  the  excrements  of  their  king  as  an  aromatic  perfume  ?  I  fancy, 
sir,  that,  at  heart,  you  are  of  my  opinion  as  to  these  natural  instincts  for  what 
is  right ;  although  you  may  say,  as  you  did  in  regard  to  that  instinct  which 
leads  us  to  seek  felicity,  that  these  impressions  are  not  innate  truths.  But  I 
have  already  replied,  that  every  feeling  is  the  perception  of  a  truth,  and  that 
the  natural  feelings  are  perceptions  of  innate  truths,  though  they  are  often 
confused,  as  are  the  experiences  of  our  bodily  senses.  Thus  we  may  distin- 
guish innate  truths  from  the  natural  light  (which  includes  only  what  is  dis- 
tinctly cognizable),  as  the  genus  should  be  distinguished  from  the  species  ;  for 
the  innate  truths  include  the  instincts  as  well  as  the  natural  light." 


334  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

which  belong  to  the  same  race,  the  Indo-European,  and  have 
been  elevated  by  the  same  religion  —  have  one  and  the  same 
system  of  morality,  and  that  the  differences  which  still  exist 
are  gradually  disappearing  under  the  growing  light  of  philo- 
sophical knowledge.  Nor  will  I  dwell  upon  the  point, 
already  so  clearly  proved,  that  pagan  morality,  the  morality 
of  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans,  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  and  the 
Stoics,  had  by  its  natural  and  spontaneous  development 
attained  the  conception  of  the  same  moral  ideas  which  in 
Judaea  found  so  dazzling  an  expression  in  the  maxims  of  the 
gospel.  This  has  been  placed  beyond  doubt  by  many  admi- 
rable works.  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  call  attention  to  a  point 
less  generally  known ;  that  is,  the  profound  and  wonderful 
analogy  between  the  moral  science  of  the  Orient  and  that 
of  the  Occident,  between  the  maxims  of  India  and  China 
on  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  those  of  Greece  and  Judaea. 
In  proving  that  all  great  civilizations  have  had  the  same 
theory  of  morals  —  sometimes  expressed  in  almost  identical 
terms,  though  there  is  no  ground  for  supposing  that  these 
were  borrowed  or  imitated  from  one  race  by  another  —  we 
should  undoubtedly  demonstrate  positively  the  moral  unity 
of  the  human  species.  Orientalists  have  therefore  rendered 
a  great  service  to  moral  science  by  putting  in  our  hands  the 
great  philosophical  and  religious  works  of  the  East  —  the 
Vedas,  the  Laws  of  Manu,  the  great  Indian  epics,  the  Buddh- 
ist legends,  the  Zend-Avesta,  the  sacred  and  classical  books 
of  China.  I  shall  draw  largely  from  these  various  sources 
whatever  is  necessary  for  supporting  my  position.1 

India  has,  as  we  know,  given  rise  to  two  great  religions, 
Brahminism  and  Buddhism,  the  latter  of  which  is  only  a 
branch  and  development  of  the  former.  All  the  morality 
of  Brahminism  is  summed  up  in  the  Laws  of  Manu,  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  beautiful  sacred  books  in  the  world. 
As  to  Buddhistic  morality,  this  is  now  familiar  to  us  through 
the  numerous  legends  with  which  M.  Eugene  Burnouf  has 

J  See  my  Histoire  de  la  Science  Politique,  iutrod.  (second  ed.,  Paris,  1872). 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  335 

acquainted  us,  and  of  which  M.  Barthelemy  Saint-Hilaire 
has  made  such  a  happy  use  in  his  book  on  Buddha.  Let 
us  first  give  a  summary  of  the  principal  points  of  the  Brah- 
minic  morality. 

The  Laws  of  Manu,  like  the  law  of  Moses,  contain  a  deca- 
logue, or  moral  code  summed  up  in  eight  precepts :  — 

"  Resignation  [he  says],  the  act  of  returning  good  for  evil,  temperance, 
honesty,  purity,  the  control  of  the  senses,  the  knowledge  of  the  Soutras,  or 
sacred  books,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  supreme  soul  (God),  these  are 
the  eight  virtues  which  compose  duty." J 

To  these  eight  virtues  are  opposed  eight  vices,  which  do 
not  exactly  correspond  to  the  virtues :  — 

"Eagerness  in  telling  of  evil,  violence,  the  act  of  doing  injury  in 
secret,  envy,  calumny,  the  act  of  appropriating  another's  property,  that 
of  injuring  and  striking  some  one,  compose  the  series  of  eight  vices  pro- 
duced by  anger." 

"If  we  compare  the  decalogue  of  Manu  with  that  of 
Moses,  we  shall  find  that  the  latter  is  more  complete  and 
precise,  relating  to  more  definite  and  well-defined  actions. 
The  other  is  more  vague,  but  also  more  exalted ;  it  applies, 
not  merely  to  exterior  acts,  but  also  to  those  which  are  moral ; 
it  forbids,  not  only  homicide,  theft,  and  adultery,  but  also  cal- 
umny, envy,  and  treachery ;  it  commands  us  to  return  good 
for  evil,  and  does  all  this  many  centuries  before  the  coming 
of  Jesus  Christ.  Finally,  the  decalogue  of  Moses  is  that  of 
a  legislator,  and  the  decalogue  of  Manu  is  that  of  a  moralist. 

The  moral  code  of  Moses  has  often  been  accused  of  being 
merely  carnal :  Christianity  has  repeatedly  made  this  accusa- 
tion. This  reproach  is  not  applicable  to  the  morality  of 
Manu,  which  is  wholly  spiritual  and  interior,  choosing  for 
the  expression  of  moral  purity  words  which  are  worthy  of 
Stoicism  and  of  Christianity.  See  how  he  describes  the 
moral  consciousness: 

1  Laics  of  Manu,  vi.  92. 


336  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

"  The  soul  is  its  own  witness ;  never  despise  your  soul.  The  wicked 
say,  '  No  one  sees  you ; '  but  the  gods  behold  them,  and  so  does  the  spirit 
which  is  within  them.  O  man !  when  thou  sayest,  I  am  alone  with 
myself  —  in  thy  heart  dwells  always  that  supreme  spirit,  the  silent  and 
attentive  observer  of  good  and  evil.  This  spirit  which  dwells  within  thy 
heart  is  a  severe  judge,  inflexible  in  punishment :  it  is  a  god." 1 

Moral  sanctions,  as  well  as  the  disinterestedness  of  virtue, 
find  in  the  same  book  exact  and  clear  expression ;  and  the 
idea  of  immortality,  the  absence,  or  at  least  the  omission,  of 
which  in  the  moral  scheme  of  Moses  has  been  remarked 
upon,  is  expressed  in  the  noblest  manner.  "  By  performing 
the  prescribed  duties,  not  having  for  motive  the  expectation 
of  reward,  man  attains  immortality."2  "After  they  have 
restored  his  body  to  the  earth,  the  relatives  of  the  dead 
man  depart ;  but  virtue  accompanies  his  soul.'"' 3  .  .  . 

The  most  beautiful  precepts  of  practical  morals  are  also 
found  in  Manu.  Charity,  humanity,  sincerity,  humility,  are 
repeatedly  recommended  in  the  most  noble  and  refined 
language.  "  He  who  is  gentle  and  patient  will  attain  heaven 
through  charity.4  .  .  .  One  should  never  injure  another,  nor 
even  think  of  doing  so."5  So  much  for  charity.  As  to 
sincerity,  could  any  thing  nobler  than  the  following  words 
be  uttered  ?  — 

"  He  who  gives  good  people  an  account  of  himself  which  is  contrary 
to  the  truth,  is  the  most  criminal  of  beings :  he  appropriates  by  theft  a 
character  which  does  not  belong  to  him.  .  .  .  Speech  establishes  all  things : 
speech  is  the  basis  of  society.  .  .  .  The  wretch  who  purloins  this,  steals 
all  things."6 

Hypocrisy,  too,  is  branded  in  the  following  energetic  words : 
"  He  who  unfurls  the  standard  of  virtue,  but  who  is  always 
grasping,  who  uses  fraud,  ...  is  like  a  cat." 7  The  Devidja, 
with  downcast  eyes,  with  a  perverse  disposition,  is  said  to  be 
like  a  heron.8     "  Every  pious  act,  hypocritically  performed, 

i  Laws  of  Manu,  viii.,  91.  2  Ibid.,  ii.,  5.  8  ibid.,  iv.,  240. 

*  Ibid.,  iv.,  246.       6  Ibid.,'ii.,  161.      6  Ibid.,  iv.,  255,  256.       »  ibid.,  iv.,  195. 
8  Ibid.,  iv.,  196.    I  cannot  see  why  the  poor  heron  should  be  here  taken  as 
the  symbol  of  hypocrisy. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  337 

goes  to  Rakchasas."  False  piety,  the  pharisaic  piety  which 
exhibits  itself  ostentatiously,  is  condemned  in  these  words, 
which  recall  those  of  the  gospel :  "  Let  not  a  man  be  proud 
of  his  austerities;  when  he  has  offered  a  sacrifice,  let  him 
not  tell  a  lie ;  when  he  has  made  a  gift,  let  him  not  go  and 
proclaim  it  everywhere."  Finally,  we  remark,  that,  in  that 
land  of  mysticism  and  ascetic  practices,  contemplative  devo- 
tion is  ranked  below  morality.  "Let  the  wise  man,"  he 
says,  "  constantly  perform  his  moral  duties  with  more  care 
than  even  his  duties  of  piety :  he  who  neglects  moral  duties 
will  fall,  even  though  he  observe  all  the  duties  of  piety."  1 

In  the  Laws  of  Manu  all  classes  of  society  may  find  their 
duties  defined  with  precision,  and  these  rules  are  as  applica- 
ble to  the  Occident  as  to  the  Orient.  Here  is  what  he  says 
of  the  duties  of  kings :  "  Let  the  king  be  severe  or  gentle 
according  to  circumstances."  "A  king  who  punishes  the 
innocent,  and  spares  the  guilty,  will  go  to  hell."  "  Let  not  a 
king,  however  poor  he  may  be,  take  possession  of  that  which 
he  ought  not  to  take."  2  The  following  are  the  duties  of  sol- 
diers :  "  In  combat  with  his  enemy,  a  warricr  should  never 
use  perfidious  weapons,  poisoned  arrows.3  Let  him  not 
strike  a  fallen  enemy,  nor  one  who  begs  for  mercy,  nor  him 
who  says  4 1  am  thy  prisoner,'  .  .  .  nor  a  sleeping  man,  nor 
one  who  is  disarmed,  nor  one  who  is  fighting  with  another." 
Do  not  forget  that  this  Indian  code  is  several  centuries 
anterior  to  Christianity,  and  you  will  recognize  its  full 
beauty.  He  speaks  thus  of  the  duties  of  judges :  "  Justice 
strikes  when  it  is  wounded;  it  preserves  when  it  is  de- 
fended." Thus  of  witnesses :  "  Either  one  should  not  come 
before  the  tribunal,  or  one  should  speak  the  truth.  He  who 
says  nothing,  and  he  who  utters  a  lie,  are  alike  guilty."4 
Finally,  the  innumerable  rules  given  by  this  legislator  as  to 
usury,  deposits,  trade,  theft,  injuries,  assassination,  adultery, 
and  rape,  differ  in  no  essential  points  from  those  which  are 
accepted  by  the  moral  consciousness  of  the  Occident. 

1  Laws  of  Manu,  iv.,  204.  2  Ibid.,  vii.,  140  et  seq. 

s  Ibid.,  vii.,  90.  4  ibid.,  viii.,  13. 


338  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

There  remain  to  be  considered  family  duties,  with  which  are 
connected  those  toward  seniors,  old  men,  and  instructors.  — 
Respect  toward  the  aged :  "  He  who  is  accustomed  to  salute 
old  people,  and  show  them  respect,  will  see  the  duration 
of  his  existence  augmented."1  —  Respect  to  teachers:  "A 
teacher  is  the  image  of  the  divine  being."2  —  Respect  toward 
parents :  "  Let  the  young  man  do  always  that  which  will 
please  his  parents.  .  .  .  This  is  the  greatest  act  of  devotion. 
.  .  .  It  is  the  first  duty:  all  others  are  secondary."3  The 
reciprocal  duties  of  husbands  and  wives  are  expressed  in  the 
most  refined  and  noble  way :  "  Let  a  woman  love  and  respect 
her  husband;  she  shall  be  honored  in  heaven."4  "After 
losing  her  husband,  let  her  never  even  utter  the  name  of 
any  other  man." 6  "  Wherever  women  are  honored,  the 
gods  are  pleased."  "Shut  up  under  the  guardianship  of 
men,  women  are  not  in  safety:  only  those  are  safe  who 
protect  themselves  by  their  own  free  will."  "  The  husband 
and  wife  are  but  one  person."  What  can  be  more  charming 
than  this  definition  of  a  marriage  of  affection  ?  — "  The 
union  of  a  young  girl  and  a  young  man,  when  it  springs 
from  mutual  affection,  is  called  the  marriage  of  celestial 
musicians." 

We  must  unquestionably  admit  the  faults  of  Brahminic 
morality.  The  principal  ones  are :  the  overwhelming  num- 
ber of  religious  ordinances,  the  greater  part  of  which  are  as 
foolish  as  they  are  useless ,  the  abuses  of  asceticism  and  of 
the  contemplative  life ;  finally,  the  system  of  castes,  and 
a  sacerdotal  despotism  unparalleled  elsewhere  in  the  world. 
Here   are   some    instances   of  this :   "  Between  *  a  Kchatrya 


1  Laws  of  Manu,  ii.,  121.  2  ibid.,  ii.,  227. 

s  Ibid.,  ii.,  227,  228,  237.  *  Ibid.,  v.,  155. 

5  Ibid.,  v.,  157.  We  see  that  no  mention  is  made  here  of  the  barbarous 
custom  prevailing  among  the  Indian  women  of  burning  themselves  on  the 
funeral-pyres  of  their  husbands.  This  is  a  fanatical  practice,  of  which  some 
highly  wrought  woman  set  the  example,  and  which,  introduced  by  fashion 
and  a  sort  of  contagion,  became  a  general  custom.  This  should  not  be  im- 
puted to  differences  of  race. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  339 

(warrior)  a  hundred  years  old  and  a  Brahmin  ten  years  old, 
there  is  the  relation  of  father  and  son ;  but  the  Brahmin  is 
the  father,  and  the  Kchatrya  is  the  son."  "  If  the  king  find 
a  treasure,  let  him  give  half  to  the  Brahmins:  if  a  Brahmin 
find  a  treasure,  let  him  keep  the  whole."  "  The  Brahmin  is 
the  king  of  the  air:  all  other  men  enjoy  terrestrial  goods 
only  by  the  permission  of  the  Brahmin." 

As  to  the  multitude  of  religious  rites  and  ceremonies, 
this  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  early  religions :  in  this 
respect  the  Mosaic  religion  has  no  occasion  to  criticise 
that  of  Brahma.  The  excess  of  contemplative  asceticism 
may  more  properly  be  regarded  as  constituting  a  moral- 
ity which  is  characteristic  of  the  Indian  race.  To  them, 
contemplation  seems  the  supreme  good :  we  find  this  in 
action.  From  this  it  is  inferred  that  there  is  one  morality 
for  the  Orient,  and  another  for  the  Occident ;  i.e.,  truth  is 
on  one  side  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  error  on  the  other ! 

I  would  remark,  however,  that  the  conflict  between  action 
and  contemplation  exists,  not  merely  between  the  Occident 
and  the  Orient ;  that  it  is  not  alone  a  conflict  of  race  and 
of  climate.  It  has  existed  in  the  Occident  itself  between 
the  mystics  and  the  moralists,  between  the  partisans  of 
monasticism  and  the  defenders  of  active  and  political  life: 
finally,  it  is  found  even  in  the  clergy,  between  the  secular 
priests  and  the  regulars.  This  conflict  arises  from  human 
nature  itself,  to  which  the  supreme  good  seems  sometimes 
to  lie  in  labor  and  action,  sometimes  in  repose.  Let  us  not 
forget,  that  Aristotle  himself,  the  most  Greek  of  all  Greeks, 
and  the  most  practical  of  philosophers,  regards  the  contem- 
plative life  as  that  which  contains  the  greatest  and  most 
perfect  happiness.1  Suppose,  finally,  that  we  have  here  a 
problem  which  has  never  been  solved:  is  the  science  of 
morals  the  only  one  which  contains  unsolved  problems  ? 

To  return  to  India,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  sages 

1  It  is  true  that  Aristotle  speaks  only  of  scientific  contemplation ;  but,  at 
this  height,  religion  and  science  are  identical. 


340  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

of  this  country,  in  spite  of  the  natural  propensities  of  their 
race,  gave  themselves  up  unreservedly  to  the  attractions  of 
a  contemplative  life,  and  were  blind  to  its  evils.  Thus,  for 
instance,  the  laws  of  Manu  do  not  permit  the  head  of  a  family 
to  devote  himself  to  solitary  life  "  until  his  hair  is  white,  and 
he  sees  before  him  the  son  of  his  son."  We  see,  also,  from 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  productions  of  the  Indian  philoso- 
phy, the  Bhagavad-G-ita,  that  the  conflict  between  contempla- 
tion and  action,  already  spoken  of,  existed  in  India,  as  well  as 
among  us.  "  There  are  two  doctrines,"  says  the  Bhagavad- 
G-ita  ;  "the  doctrine,  of  speculation,  and  the  doctrine  of 
practice."  The  author  of  this  book  wished  to  reconcile  the 
two.  "Only  children  and  ignorant  people,"  he  says,  "speak 
of  the  speculative  and  the  practical  doctrines  as  being  two 
distinct  doctrines :  they  form  but  one  science."  Many  pas- 
sages in  this  admirable  philosophical  poem,  the  masterpiece 
of  the  Indian  genius,  are  expressly  designed  to  show  the 
superiority  of  active  life.  "  Renunciation  and  the  practice  of 
good  works  are  two  roads  which  conduct  to  supreme  felicity, 
but  the  practice  of  good  works  is  better  than  renunciation." 
"Action  is  superior  to  inaction.  .  .  .  The  laying  aside  of 
the  mortal  form  cannot  be  accomplished  in  inaction."  "  To 
be  a  Sannyasa,  or  a  recluse  without  occupation,  is  to  have 
trouble  and  anxiety ;  while  the  Mouni  who  is  busy  in  fulfill- 
ing his  duties  is  already  united  with  Brahma,  the  all-power- 
ful." Finally,  to  give  added  authority  to  these  words,  the 
god  who  is  explaining  the  doctrine  to  the  young  prince,  his 
listener,  cries  out  in  an  admirable  burst  of  eloquence,  "I 
myself,  O  Arjouna!  have  nothing  to  do,  and  nothing  to 
desire,  in  these  three  parts  of  the  world ;  yet  Hive  in  the  exer- 
cise of  my  moral  duties" 

We  see  that  the  controversy  between  contemplation  and 
action  is  not  confined  to  the  Occident  nor  to  the  Orient, 
but  is  common  to  both.1     I  admit,  that  in  one  there  is  more 

1  They  are  the  same  races,  it  is  said ;  for  we  are  known  to  be  Indian. 
Granted  ;  but  the  same  conflict  is  found  in  China.    Laotseu,  a  Chinese  philos- 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  341 

contemplation,  in  the  other  more  action;  yet  there  is,  per- 
haps, only  a  difference  of  degree.  There  remains,  then,  as 
specially  characterizing  the  Brahminic  morality,  the  system 
of  castes,  and  the  pitiless  division  of  the  people  into  four 
classes,  separated  by  impassable  barriers.  These  are  priests, 
soldiers,  laborers  and  merchants,  servants  or  slaves,  not  to 
mention  that  below  these  four  legal  classes,  there  is  another 
nameless  one,  called  by  Manu,  Tchandalas,  who  have  not 
even  the  honor  of  being  legally  slaves.  Never  has  human 
inequality  been  consecrated  in  a  more  brutal  and  odious 
manner.  Never  was  it  expressed  in  more  revolting  terms: 
"The  four  classes  have  for  their  first  cause  Brahma;  he 
produced  each  from  a  different  part  of  himself.  The  Brah- 
mins came  •  from  his  mouth,  the  Kchatrya  from  his  arm,  the 
Vaicya  from  his  thigh,  the  Sudras  from  his  foot."  Each  class 
has  its  own  special  duties.  "The  duty  of  the  Brahmin 
is  peace  and  moderation ;  the  duty  of  the  Kchatrya  is  valor ; 
the  duty  of  the  Vaicya  is  the  cultivation  of  the  earth,  and 
trade ;  the  duty  of  the  Sudras  is  servitude."  Thus,  virtue 
seems  to  be  a  privilege.  The  noblest  virtues  belong  to  the 
Brahmins,  the  most  brilliant  to  the  warriors :  as  to  the  lower 
classes,  they  have  nothing  that  can  properly  be  called  either 
duties  or  virtues ;  they  have  functions,  and  the  lowest  of  all 
has  no  function  but  that  of  serving  the  others.  Finally,  we 
have  already  seen  to  what  heights  of  sacerdotal  pride  the 
class  of  Brahmins  rose  ;  though  the  laws  of  Manu  commanded 
them  to  be  humble,  and  urged  them  "to  seek  contempt  as 
though  it  were  ambrosia :  "  feigned  humility  has  never  failed 
to  accompany  theocratic  insolence.1 

opher,  is  contemplative  :  Confucius  is  practical.  China  is  exclusively  practi- 
cal, it  is  said.  Then,  how  does  it  happen  that  Buddhism  is  more  generally 
accepted  there  than  anywhere  else  in  Asia  ?  They  have  taken  only  its  super- 
stitions, it  is  said.  But,  in  India  itself,  have  the  people  taken  any  thing  from 
Brahminism  besides  its  superstitions?  True  contemplatives  are  everywhere 
exceptional :  the  Fe'nelons  are  everywhere  in  a  minority. 

1  Thus  the  popes,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  proclaimed  themselves  the  servants  of 
the  servants  of  God, 


342  THE  THEOEY  OF  MORALS. 

Yet,  although  the  inequality  of  men  has  possibly  never 
been  proclaimed  in  more  insolent  terms  than  by  the  Brah- 
minie  legislation  and  religion,  it  is  but  just  to  say  that  caste 
prejudices  are  by  no  means  the  exclusive  error  of  Oriental 
races.  Theoretically,  Aristotle's  Apology  for  Slavery  is  not 
behind  the  Laws  of  Manu  in  the  brutality  of  its  expression. 

"  If  the  shuttle  would  weave  by  itself  [says  Aristotle],  there  would  be 
no  need  for  slaves.  .  .  .  The  slave  is  the  man  of  another  man.  Do  men 
exist  who  are  as  inferior  to  other  men  as  are  the  brutes  ?  If  there  are  any 
such,  they  are  intended  for  slaves.  Now,  there  are  men  who  have  just 
reason  enough  to  comprehend  the  reason  of  others.  For  such,  corporal 
labor  is  the  only  useful  employment.     They  are  slaves  by  nature." 

As  to  sacerdotal  despotism,  Europe  has  known  this  as  well 
as  India,  if  not  to  the  same  extent.  In  the  FaTse  Decretals 
it  is  written ;  "  Let  all  the  princes  of  the  earth,  and  all  men 
whatsoever,  obey  the  priests,  and  bow  their  heads  before  them."  1 

Thus  the  Occident  has  no  occasion  for  reviling  the  Orient 
on  account  of  the  principle  of  castes ;  and,  conversely,  it  may 
be  said  that  the  Orient  did  not  need  aid  from  the  wisdom 
of  the  Occident  to  attain  to  the  conception  of  the  equality  of 
men.  Spontaneously,  and  without  leaving  India,  the  human 
soul  was  able  to  apprehend  in  its  full  force  the  principle  of 
human  brotherhood :  it  is  the  glory  of  Buddhism,  as  it  is  of 
Christianity,  that  it  proclaimed  this  principle.  It  certainly 
cannot  be  affirmed  that  the  latter  borrowed  it  from  the 
former ;  but  assuredly  the  former  did  not  receive  it  from  the 
latter,  since  it  is  far  anterior  to  it.  One  may,  doubtless, 
bring  plausible  and  specious  arguments  against  the  meta- 
physics of  Buddhism ; 2  but,  as  for  its  morality,  that  is  of 
an  incomparable  beauty,  which  yields  to  none,  not  even  to 
Christianity. 

1  Psevdo-Tsidorus  (ed.  of  Geneva,  1628),  letter  i.,  attributed  to  Pope  Clement  I. 

2  M.  Barthelemy  Saint-Hilaire,  in  his  book  on  Buddha,  is  very  severe  in  his 
condemnation  of  Buddhism,  which  he  calls  an  atheistic  religion.  This  is  not 
the  proper  place  for  considering  the  famous  question  of  Nirvana:  it  is  enough  to 
say  that  my  opinion  upon  this  point  is  exactly  opposite  to  that  of  the  learned 
critic,  although  he  is  supported  by  the  high  authority  of  Eugene  Burnouf . 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  343 

In  Brahminism,  piety  and  salvation  were,  in  a  sense,  the 
privilege  of  the  Brahmin.  £akia,  the  holy  founder  of  Buddh- 
ism, opened  heaven  to  all.  "  My  law,"  he  said,  "  is  a  law  of 
grace  unto  all"  Thus,  also,  St.  Paul  and  the  other  apostles 
never  attacked  directly  the  civil  institution  of  slavery :  but 
they  said,  "  There  are  neither  bond  nor  free ;  there  are 
neither  rich  nor  poor :  we  are  all  brothers  in  Christ  Jesus" 1 

When  the  principle  of  religious  equality  has  once  been 
proclaimed,  it  is  not  difficult  to  deduce  from  it  the  principle 
of  natural  equality.  Thus,  much  later,  we  find  the  Buddh- 
istic philosophy  attacking  the  system  of  caste  with  argu- 
ments which  sound  as  if  borrowed  from  our  philosophy  of 
the  eighteenth  century. 

"  There  is  no  such  difference  between  a  Brahmin  and  a  man  of  another 
caste  [says  one  of  the  Buddhist  legends]  as  there  is  between  a  stone  and 
gold,  or  between  light  and  darkness.  The  Brahmins  came  neither  from 
the  ether  nor  from  the  wind :  they  did  not  found  the  earth  that  they 
might  appear  in  the  light  of  day.  A  Brahmin  comes  forth  from  the 
womb  of  a  woman,  just  as  a  Tchandala  does.  A  Brahmin,  when  he  is 
dead,  is  forsaken  as  being  vile  and  unclean :  it  is  the  same  with  him  as 
with  other  castes.     Where,  then,  is  the  difference  f  " 

In  a  more  modern  treatise  the  author  speaks  still  more 
boldly:  — 

"  The  unumbora  and  the  parasa 2  produce  fruit  from  their  branches, 
their  stalks,  their  joints,  and  their  roots ;  yet  these  fruits  are  not  distin- 
guishable one  from  the  other.  We  cannot  say,  this  is  the  Brahmin  fruit, 
this  the  Kchatrya,  this  the  Vaicya,  this  the  Sudra ;  for  all  come  from  the 
same  tree.     Hence  there  are  not  four  classes,  but  one  only." 

The  resemblances  between  the  theories  of  morals,  which 
are  found  among  the  Persians,3  the  Indians,  and  even  the 

1  Those  who  have  inferred  from  this  text  that  the  apostles  forbid  slavery, 
should  also  logically  say  that  they  denied  the  rights  of  property,  since  there 
are  neither  rich  nor  poor  in  Jesus  Christ. 

2  Names  of  trees. 

8  We  have  little  knowledge  as  to  the  moral  ideas  of  the  ancient  Persians; 
but  those  which  are  furnished  us,  either  by  the  Zend-Avesta  or  by  the  testi- 


344  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Greeks,  and  our  own  moral  ideas,  may  be  said  to  be  due  to 
race-identity,  as  it  is  known  that  these  different  peoples  are 
but  diverse  branches  from  the  same  tree  from  which  all  the 
nations  now  existing  in  Europe  originally  sprang ;  but  this 
explanation  would  at  least  prove  the  uniformity  of  the 
moral  type  among  all  the  descendants  of  that  race.  What 
will  be  said  if  the  same,  and  perhaps  even  more  striking, 
resemblances  are  found  among  people  of  an  entirely  different 
race,  who  have  no  common  sort  with  us,  either  physiologi- 
cally, philologically,  or  ethnologically,but  who  spontaneously, 
by  the  natural  exercise  of  reflection,  have  attained  similar 
principles  expressed  in  almost  the  same  words?  In  this 
respect,  what  can  be  more  instructive  or  admirable  than 
the  moral  science  of  the  greatest  sage  of  China,  one  of  the 
greatest  sages  of  the  world,  Confucius,  and  also  of  the  coura- 
geous and  spiritual  Mencius,  who  revived  his  doctrine  ? 

In  regard  to  the  moral  law  and  its  essential  features, 
Confucius  expresses  himself  with  such  nobility,  decision, 
and  clearness,  as  is  found  only  among  the  Grecian  philoso- 
phers, or  in  the  modern  European  philosophy.  In  his  view, 
the  essential  character  of  this  law  is  the  very  same  the  truth 
of  which  we  are  now  considering ;  that  is,  immutable  and  abso- 
lute obligation.  "The  rule  for  our  moral  conduct,"  he  says, 
"  is  so  obligatory  that  we  cannot  disobey  it  in  a  single  point 
for  a  single  moment.  If  it  could  be  disregarded,  it  would 
no  longer  be  an  immutable  law  of  conduct."  ..."  The  law 
of  duty  is  by  itself  the  law  of  duty,"  he  says  again,  most 
admirably.  He  pictures  for  us  this  eternal  law,  the  same  for 
all,  whatever  may  be  their  condition,  accessible  to  the  hum- 
blest, yet,  at  the  same  time,  surpassing  all  the  efforts  of  the 
wisest,  so  broad  that  it  may  be  applied  to  every  human  action, 
yet  so  subtle  that  it  is  not  manifest  for  all.  This  law  inspires 
in  him  expressions  of  passionate  enthusiasm.  "  Oh,  how 
grand  is  the  law  of  the  holy  man !     It  is  a  shoreless  ocean. 

:mony  of  the  ancients,  justify  us  in  saying  that  their  general  ideas  of  morality 
\were  the  same  as  those  of  the  Greeks  and  the  East  Indians. 


[UNIVERSIt 

UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  345 

It  produces  and  sustains  all  beings.  Its  height  reaches  to 
the  heavens.  Oh,  how  vast  and  abundant  it  is ! "  Listen, 
too,  to  these  noble  and  touching  words :  "  If  in  the  morning 
you  have  heard  the  voice  of  celestial  reason,  in  the  evening 
you  may  well  die." 1 

Temperance,  dignity,  self-control,  simplicity  of  life  —  these 
are  the  virtues  which  Confucius  requires  of  his  wise  man, 
who  is  like  a  sage  of  the  Stoics,  but  without  his  pride  and 
self-assertion.  "  If  he  is  rich,  and  loaded  with  honors,  he 
will  act  as  a  man  who  is  rich  and  loaded  with  honors  should 
do.  If  he  is  poor  and  despised,  he  will  act  as  a  man  who  is 
poor  and  despised  should  do.  The  wise  man  who  has  iden- 
tified himself  with  the  law  will  always  maintain  sufficient 
self-control  to  enable  him  to  fulfil  all  the  duties  of  his  con- 
dition, whatever  that  condition  may  be."  "To  live  on  a 
little  rice  merely,  and  to  rest  one's  head  only  on  one's 
bended  arm,  is  a  condition  which  has  its  sweetness."  "  To 
become  rich  and  honored  by  iniquitous  means  is  to  me  the 
image  of  the  passing  cloud  which  floats  away  over  our 
heads."  "To  forsake  the  world,  to  be  neither  seen  nor 
known  of  men,  is  not  possible  for  any  but  a  saint."  "  The 
superior  man  is  distressed  by  his  powerlessness,  and  is  not 
understood  by  mankind." 

The  perfecting  of  one's  self  is  but  the  first  part  of  his 
system :  the  second  and  the  most  important  is  the  perfect- 
ing of  others.  Confucius  regards  the  virtue  of  humanity 
as  the  chief  of  all.  Fan-tche  asks  what  is  this  virtue  of 
humanity.  The  philosopher  replies,  "To  love  mankind." 
"  One  should  love  mankind  with  all  the  strength  and  com- 
pass of  one's  affection."  "  The  superior  man  is  he  who  feels 
the  same  kindness  toward  all."  In  some  passages  the  senti- 
ment of  brotherhood  is  expressed  in  touching  and  passionate 
words.  The  philosopher  says ;  "  I  would  gladly  procure  for 
old  men  sweet  repose,  preserve  a  constant  fidelity  between 

1  These  passages  will  be  found  in  my  Histoire  de  la  Science  Politique  (second 
ed.,  Paris,  1872),  t.  i.,  Introduction,  p.  42,  et  seq. 


346  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

friends,  and  give  to  women  and  to  children  truly  mater- 
nal care  !  "  Seu-mamieou,  affected  with  melancholy,  said ; 
"  Every  one  has  brothers :  I  only  have  none."  The  philoso- 
pher answered,  "Let  the  superior  man  regard  all  the  men 
who  live  between  the  four  seas  as  his  brothers."  Finally, 
we  find  in  Confucius  these  celebrated  gospel  maxims,  ex- 
pressed in  the  very  same  words :  "  The  doctrine  of  our 
master,"  says  Meng-tseu,  "  consists  solely  in  having  upright- 
ness of  heart,  and  loving  our  neighbor  as  ourselves."  "  To 
act  toward  men  as  we  wish  that  they  should  act  toward  us, 
this  is  the  doctrine  of  humanity." 

I  do  not  wish  to  give  here  the  history  of  moral  science  in 
China ;  but  it  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  recall  the  opinion 
expressed  by  Mencius,  who  maintained,  just  as  I  am  now 
doing,  the  universality  of  moral  ideas. 

"All  men  [he  said]  feel  the  sentiment  of  mercy  and  pity;  all  men 
feel  the  sentiment  of  hatred  and  of  vice ;  all  men  feel  the  sentiment  of 
deference  and  respect;  all  men  feel  the  sentiment  of  approbation  and 
of  blame."  "  As  all  men  have  a  similar  faculty  of  taste,  which  makes 
them  take  pleasure  in  similar  seasonings,  sounds,  and  forms ;  so  also  all 
men  have  the  same  hearts,  and  that  which  all  hearts  hold  in  common 
is  equity." 

Generally  speaking,  the  philosopher  Meng-tseu  merely 
reproduces,  often  in  very  happy  terms,  but  with  no  altera- 
tions, the  moral  teachings  of  Confucius.  But  there  is  one 
important  point  in  which  he  exhibits  true  originality,  and 
where  he  shows  us  a  feature  in  Oriental  morals  which  we 
had  wrongly  supposed  to  be  entirely  lacking  there.  We 
always  think  of  the  Orient,  and  especially  of  China,  as  a 
place  where  unlimited  despotism  prevails,  and  which  is  given 
up  to  boundless  servility.  This  is  an  error.  There  also 
human  nature  has  recognized  and  defended  its  dignity; 
there  also  power  has  found  critics;  there  also  bold  advice 
and  threats  have  not  been  wanting  when  tyrants  have 
endeavored  to   oppress  the   people.     Perhaps  it  might  be 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  847 

hard  to  find  in  the  Occident,  even  now,  philosophers  who 
would  dare  to  say  to  their  sovereigns  what  a  Chinaman 
ventured  to  say  in  the  time  of  Mencius  and  Confucius. 

Mencius  was  particularly  remarkable  for  the  boldness  of 
his  speech,  and  the  freedom  of  his  criticism.  He  is  character- 
ized especially  by  wit  and  by  audacity.  A  prime-minister 
announced  to  him  his  intention  of  lightening  the  burdens 
of  the  people,  and  promised  to  diminish  the  vexatious  taxes 
year  by  year  without  suppressing  them  entirely.  Mencius 
answered  in  this  clever  parable :  "  There  was  once  a  man 
who  daily  took  his  neighbors'  fowls.  Some  one  said  to  him, 
What  you  are  doing  is  not  honest.  He  replied,  I  intend  to 
correct  myself  of  this  vice  by  degrees :  I  will  take  but  one 
fowl  a  month  until  next  year,  and  afterwards  I  will  entirely 
refrain  from  theft."  On  another  occasion  the  same  philoso- 
pher, in  talking  with  the  king  of  Tsi,  asked  him :  "  What 
should  one  do  to  a  friend  who  has  badly  administered  the 
affairs  intrusted  to  him  ?  "  —  "  Break  with  him,"  said  the 
king.  "And  to  a  magistrate  who  does  not  perform  his 
duties  properly?"  —  "Remove  him  from  office,"  said  the 
king.  "  And,  if  provinces  are  badly  governed,  what  should 
be  done?"  The  king,  pretending  not  to  understand  him, 
looked  to  right  and  left,  and  spoke  of  other  things.  This  is 
the  way  with  all  governments  when  one  tells  them  the  truth. 

It  surprises  us  to  find  in  Chinese  philosophy  political  doc- 
trines very  strongly  resembling  those  which  in  the  West  we 
call  liberal.  How  does  it  explain  the  right  of  sovereignty  ? 
As  being  a  sort  of  agreement  between  God  and  the  people. 
The  emperor  does  not  himself  appoint  his  successor:  he  can 
only  offer  him  for  the  acceptation  of  God  and  the  people. 
Now,  the  will  of  God  is  not  expressed  by  words,  but  he  ex- 
presses it  by  the  consent  of  the  people.  Mencius  quotes, 
in  support  of  this  theory,  these  words  by  Chon-King,  which 
prove  that  it  was  the  traditional  doctrine  of  the  empire. 
"  Heaven  sees  all  things,  but  does  so  through  the  eyes  of  the 
people.     Heaven  hears  all  things,  but  does  so  through  the 


348  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

ears  of  the  people." l  Confucius  maintains  that  a  sovereign 
mandate  loses  its  authority  by  unworthiness.  Mencius  main- 
tains the  same  doctrine  with  even  more  .energy,  and  he 
openly  defended  the  right  of  insurrection.  The  king  said 
to  him :  "  Has  a  minister  or  a  subject  a  right  to  dethrone 
and  kill  his  prince  ?  "  The  philosopher  answered :  "  He  who 
steals  from  humanity  is  called  a  robber.  He  who  steals  from 
justice  is  called  a  tyrant.  I  have  heard  that  Tching-Thang 
put  to  death  a  tyrant :  I  have  never  heard  that  he  killed  his 
prince."  We  will  close  our  summary  of  this  curious  politi- 
cal doctrine  with  these  words,  which  would  be  bold,  even 
in  the  Occident:  "The  people  is  the  noblest  thing  in  the 
world.  .  .  .  The  prince  is  the  thing  of  least  importance." 

I  summed  up  in  two  propositions  the  sceptical  objections : 
among  savages  there  is  no  morality ;  among  civilized  nations 
the  ideas  of  morality  are  contradictory.  To  these  two  propo- 
sitions I  oppose  two  others:  there  is  no  savage  tribe  in  which 
we  do  not  find  the  germs  of  morality;  in  proportion  as 
peoples  rise  to  the  same  plane  of  civilization,  they  form  moral 
ideas  which  resemble  each  other  more  and  more  closely, 
whatever  may  be  their  differences  of  race,  climate,  and  habits. 
These  two  propositions,  which  are  the  exact  antitheses  of 
the  preceding  ones,  are  justified,  and  will  be  more  and  more 
so,  by  a  thorough  examination  of  the  facts. 

The  result  of  this  investigation  is,  that  moral  contradic- 
tions depend  upon  the  degree  of  ignorance  or  of  intelligence 
to  which  a  people  has  arisen.  In  proportion  as  they  grow 
wiser,  they  tend  more  and  more  toward  one  and  the  same 
conception  of  morals,  which  is  the  very  thing  that  we  call 
civilization ;  and  the  chief  object  of  all  intelligent  moral 
science  is,  to  extend  the  knowledge  and  improve  the  compre- 


1  Vox  populi,  vox  dei.  These  maxims,  which  are  still  current  in  China,  have 
undoubtedly  lost  all  their  force  in  the  lapse  of  time,  just  as  the  old  republican 
formulas  did  in  the  Roman  empire  ;  but  they  had  a  very  real  meaning  at  the 
first :  and  the  Chinese  have  used,  at  least  as  much  as  any  other  people,  "  the 
right  of  appeal  to  Heaven,"  as  Locke  defines  the  right  cf  insurrection. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  349 

hension  of  those  moral  laws,  which,  if  not  truly  universal  in 
the  past,  are  to  become  so  in  the  future.  Thus  we  have  seen 
the  prejudices  and  vices  which  belong  more  or  less  to  the 
state  of  barbarism,  gradually  disappearing.  Thus,  for  exam- 
ple, as  the  feeling  of  respect  for  human  life  has  developed 
more  and  more  among  mankind,  under  the  double  influence 
of  philosophy  and  of  religion,  we  have  seen  every  thing 
which  is  opposed  to  this  principle  disappear  or  grow  weaker. 
Thus  cannibalism,  the  vendetta,  private  wars,  human  sacri- 
fices, tyrannicide,  suicide,  duelling,  and  the  use  of  torture, 
after  being  for  a  long  time  allowable  and  even  honorable 
practices,  have  gradually  disappeared  from  manners  and  from 
opinions.  Thus,  as  the  true  idea  of  the  family  has  been  dis- 
seminated, we  have  seen  the  disappearance,  or  the  limitation 
to  certain  countries,  of  polygamy,  of  a  father's  right  of  life  and 
death  over  his  children,  of  the  right  of  primogeniture,  etc. 
In  regard  to  property,  as  society  has  become  more  settled, 
we  have  seen  pillage  and  brigandage,  which  at  first  were  the 
privilege  of  heroes,  become  the  refuge  of  malefactors:  we 
have  seen  the  rights  of  property  become  more  and  more 
accessible  to  all,  and  better  and  better  guaranteed.  In 
regard  to  personal  liberty,  we  have  seen  slavery  in  all  its 
forms  successively  disappear  from  civilized  states.  In  regard 
to  religion,  we  have  seen  the  passing  away  of  violence  and 
cruelty  exercised  in  the  name  of  religious  faith.  In  regard 
to  international  rights,  we  have  seen  the  rights  of  war  grad- 
ually reduced  to  what  is  strictly  necessary :  we  have  succes- 
sively abandoned  or  condemned  pillage,  the  massacre  of 
the  conquered,  the  reduction  of  prisoners  to  slavery,  odious 
means  of  warfare,  such  a  spoison ;  and  in  time  of  peace,  a 
hatred  of  strangers,  the  right  of  aubaine^  and  all  similar 
relics  of  a  state  of  barbarism.  In  a  word,  as  the  appreciation 
of  the  dignity  of  man  and  of  human  brotherhood  has  become 
more  and  more  general,  men  have  come  to  understand  better 

1  By  an  old  French  law,  the  sovereign  inherited  the  property  of  a  foreign 
resident  who  died  within  his  domains.  This  was  called  the  droit  d'aubaine.  — 
Trans. 


350  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  results  of  these  principles,  and  will  continue  to  grow  in 
the  comprehension  of  them.  Thus  the  progress  of  human 
consciousness  will  gradually  bring  about  the  disappearance 
of  those  contradictions  so  often  encountered  by  moralists. 

But  can  the  progressive  development  of  moral  ideas  be 
reconciled  with  the  doctrine  of  an  immutable  and  absolute 
moral  law  ?  Is  that  which  is  absolute,  susceptible  of  change  ? 
This  apparent  difficulty  is  removed  by  a  very  simple  distinc- 
tion—  that  between  truth  in  itself  and  the  knowledge  of 
truth  which  we  possess.  Geometry  certainly  attains  truths 
which  are  immutable  and  absolute,  yet  the  science  of  geome- 
try is  progressive.  Each  of  the  truths  of  which  geometric 
truth  consists,  have  been  successively  developed  before  our 
eyes :  we  draw  consequences  from  principles ;  and  each  new 
consequence  is  an  acquisition,  a  progressive  step.  Thus 
science  develops  from  theorem  to  theorem,  while  truth 
undergoes  no  change.  The  same  is  true  of  all  sciences,  even 
of  those  which  are  experimental.  Physics  and  chemistry 
do  not  have  for  their  object  those  truths  which  are  called  in 
logic  absolute ;  that  is  to  say,  necessary  and  a  priori.  But 
these  truths  are,  nevertheless,  immutable.  They  have  been 
the  same  ever  since  the  origin  of  things,  though  we  have  only 
gradually  come  to  know  them ;  and  the  errors  which  have 
been  made  in  regard  to  them  do  not  prove  that  they  are 
themselves  arbitrary  and  variable. 

Why  should  it  not  be  the  same  in  moral  science  ?  There 
are  moral,  as  well  as  physical,  laws :  there  are  moral,  as  well 
as  geometric,  truths.  In  themselves  these  truths  and  these 
laws  are  absolute,  immutable,  and  universal ;  but  they  do  not 
appear  to  us  at  first  in  their  entirety,  nor  always  in  their 
true  colors.  We  make  false  or  incomplete  hypotheses  in 
morals,  just  as  we  do  in  physics.  Finally,  error  does  not 
prove  the  non-existence  of  truth.  Moral  science  is  derived 
from  an  increasing  knowledge  of  human  nature.  It  has  two 
sources  —  human  nature  and  brotherhood.  In  proportion  as 
mankind  understand  more  fully  the  value  of  human  person- 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  MORAL  PRINCIPLES.  351 

ality  and  the  identity  of  nature  in  all  men,  moral  science 
will  be  extended  and  developed.  But  this  double  knowl- 
edge requires  also  the  development  of  thought  and  of  feel- 
ing. Just  as  men  had  at  first  no  idea  of  the  laws  of  nature 
or  of  the  order  of  the  universe,  and  reached  this  conception 
but  slowly ;  so  at  first  they  had  no  feeling  for  the  value  of 
man,  nor  for  the  community  of  essence  or  the  solidarity 
which  unites  men  one  to  another. 

Moral  progress  is  not,  then,  incompatible  with  the  intrin- 
sic immutability  of  moral  truths.  On  the  contrary,  it  may 
be  said,  that,  but  for  the  hypothesis  of  an  absolute  moral 
law  within  our  consciences,  this  progress  itself  would  be 
inexplicable ;  for  change  is  not  necessarily  progress.  If 
there  were  not  something  essentially  good  and  true,  I  cannot 
see  why  one  state  of  society  should  be  better  than  another, 
respect  for  human  life  better  than  savage  cruelty,  human 
equality  better  than  slavery,  or  religious  toleration  better 
than  the  bloodthirsty  faith  of  the  Middle  Ages,  or  the  still 
more  bloodthirsty  faith  of  the  old  prehistoric  superstitions. 

Finally,  it  is  said  that  there  are  races  which  are  stationary. 
It  would  be  more  just  to  say  that  there  are  those  whose 
progress  has  been  arrested,  for  none  have  been  absolutely 
stationary :  all  have  made  some  progress,  only  all  have  not 
risen  to  the  same  plane.  But  is  not  this  also  true  of  individ- 
uals? Profound  and  refined  moral  sentiments  are  not  found 
in  every  man ;  there  are  some  who  point  out  the  road ;  these 
are  saints  or  sages.  Others  follow  them  afar  off.  Why  may 
it  not  be  the  same  with  races  ?  Some  march  in  the  van :  the 
others  follow  at  varying  distances. 

This  is  our  summary.  As  Spinoza  has  said,  man  has  two 
states — a  state  of  nature,  and  a  state  of  reason.  In  the  first 
prevails  the  law  of  the  strongest :  in  the  second,  peace  and 
union  are  found.  The  law  of  humanity  is,  that  it  shall  pass 
from  the  one  to  the  other  of  these  states,  which  can  only  be 
done  in  the  course  of  time;  that  is,  progressively.  Each 
people,  each  race,  each  century,  makes  some  advance  toward 


352  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

this  goal;  but  no  people,  no  century,  has  ever  been  com- 
pletely plunged  in  the  state  of  nature;  none  has  attained 
the  state  of  absolute  reason.  All  march  toward  it  at  vary- 
ing distances,  but  none  has  attained  the  goal.  We  must 
reverse  the  order  which  the  eighteenth  century  established  : 
what  was  then  placed  in  the  past,  we  must  set  before  us  in 
the  future.  The  social  contract  was  not  the  law  of  primi- 
tive societies,  but  it  is  the  ideal  law  of  future  societies.  The 
moral  unity  of  human  nature  was  not  manifest  in  the  in- 
fancy of  our  species;  but  it  is  the  goal  toward  which  it 
tends,  and  the  secret  reason  for  its  unceasing  ascent  toward 
the  better. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  MORAL  SENTIMENT. 

ONE  of  the  strangest  paradoxes  in  the  philosophy  of 
Kant,  which  I  will  even  venture  to  call  a  disgraceful 
feature  in  it,  is  the  sort  of  disfavor  with  which  it  regards 
good  sentiments,  those  natural  inclinations  which  lead  us  to 
act  rightly  spontaneously,  and  without  effort.  He  does  not 
recognize  moral  character  in  any  thing,  unless  there  is  obedi- 
ence to  duty,  that  is  to  say,  effort  and  struggle,  which  really 
implies  resistance  and  rebellion ;  for  struggle  implies  the  ex- 
istence of  an  obstacle.  Does  he  wish  to  give  us  a  correct 
idea  of  the  duty  of  self-preservation  ?  Then  he  pictures  for 
us  a  man  goaded  by  despair  to  the  point  of  taking  his  own 
life,  but  triumphing  over  this  savage  misanthropy,  and  con- 
senting to  live  purely  out  of  respect  for  the  law.  So,  too,  if 
he  wishes  to  illustrate  the  true  fulfilment  of  duty  to  mankind, 
he  paints  a  soul  naturally  cold  and  insensible,  which,  without 
pity  and  without  weakness,  does  good  to  others  because  it  is 
its  duty,  and  from  no  other  motive.  Any  other  love  than 
that  which  manifests  itself  by  external  acts  is  branded  with 
his  condemnation  by  the  title  which  he  gives  it,  'pathologi- 
cal love.1     He  even  goes  so  far  as  to  take  every  spark  of 

1  Kant  himself  acted  on  these  theories.  He  had  a  sister  who  was,  like  him- 
self, of  rather  low  extraction;  and,  as  she  had  not  ennohled  herself  hy  educa- 
tion and  intelligence,  there  was  no  sympathy  between  them.  He  paid  her 
a  pension,  but  always  refused  to  see  her.  He  thought  be  fulfilled  all  his 
duty  by  giving  her  money.  Strange  resemblance  between  Kant  and  Pascal! 
Both,  through  religious  or  philosophic  fanaticism,  trampled  under  foot  the 
most  natural  sentiments  of  the  human  race,  and  one  of  the  best,  the  most 
innocent  of  all  —  the  love  of  a  brother  for  his  sister. 

353 


354  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

internal  charity  from  those  touching  words  of  the  gospel, 
"  Love  one  another,"  by  reducing  them  exclusively  to  ex- 
ternal obligations,  forgetting  those  admirable  words  of  St. 
Paul's :  "  Though  I  bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor, 
and  though  I  give  my  body  to  be  burned,  and  have  not 
charity,  it  proflteth  me  nothing." 

I  grant  that  this  dry  and  haughty  morality  may  serve  to 
develop  in  man  masculine  virtues  and  virile  energy:  its 
noblest  service  is,  that  it  has  brought  into  clear  view  the 
idea  of  law.  It  is  but  just  to  say  that  it  was  a  strong  and 
legitimate  re-action  against  the  sickly  and  mawkish  sentimen- 
tality of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  I  find  it  hard  to 
believe  that  it  contains  all  the  truth  of  moral  science. 

When  one  reads,  and  becomes  profoundly  imbued  with, 
Kant's  philosophy,  one  finds  one's  self  in  a  strange  moral 
condition :  one  repents  of  one's  good  sentiments,  and  suffers 
remorse  for  them.1  -!  "  What ! "  says  one  to  himself.  u  I 
love  my  friends,  I  love  my  children,  I  love  mankind !  I  am 
endowed  with  pity  and  tenderness !  All  this  has  no  moral 
value.  Why  did  not  nature  make  me  an  egotist?  Then  I 
might  have  obeyed  the  duty  which  commands  me  to  sacri- 
fice myself  for  others !  Why  did  not  nature  inspire  in  me 
disgust  for  all  family  joys  ?  Then  I  might  at  least  have  had 
some  merit  in  performing  my  domestic  duties.  I  am  weary 
of  myself  in  my  heart,  but  it  is  a  moral  weariness.  I  love 
my  parents  tenderly:  what  misery!  It  is  a  pathological 
love.  If  nature  had  made  me  without  any  feeling  for  them, 
doubtless  my  cares  and  attentions  would  have  had  less 
charm  for  them  than  now ;  but  they  would  have  possessed 
a  moral  character,  a  moral  valuej  The  only  thing  which 
has  an  absolute  value  is  the  good  will.  Now,  good  senti- 
ments do  not  come  from  the  will :  they  do  not  shine  with 
their  own  radiance.  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  heart !  Theirs 
is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

1  Schiller,  as  is  well  known,  uttered  this  charming  epigram:  "  I  feel 
pleasure  in  doing  good  to  my  neighbor;  this  troubles  me,  for  I  feel  that 
I  am  not  entirely  virtuous." 


THE  MORAL  SENTIMENT.  355 

Thus  we  see  that  such  a  morality  not  only  causes  us  to 
feel  scruples  and  remorse  as  to  our  good  feelings,  but  it  even 
seems  to  be  impossible  if  we  do  not  have  bad  sentiments. 
It  always  represents  duty  as  a  constraint,  a  rule,  a  discipline. 
But  this  constraint  evidently  presupposes  the  resistance  of 
the  sensibility.  If  we  had  no  passions,  what  would  there  be 
for  us  to  conquer  ?  He  who  has  no  taste  for  the  pleasures 
of  the  table,  or  for  the  pleasures  of  love,  will  naturally 
abstain  from  both  without  needing  the  restraint  of  the  law. 
He  who  has  never  experienced  the  passion  for  gaming  has 
no  need  of  the  precept  which  forbids  it :  he  who  has  never 
felt  the  desire  for  vengeance,  never  thinks  of  the  law  which 
forbids  revenge.  Even  supposing,  that,  in  abstaining  from 
these  actions,  the  moral  agent  tells  himself  that  he  abstains 
out  of  respect  for  the  law,  how  can  he  be  assured  that  he  is 
not  deceiving  himself,  since  his  instinct  would  lead  him  to 
abstain,  even  if  no  law  required  it  ? 

Thus,  if  one  accepts  the  theory  of  the  categorical  impera- 
tive, one  must  regret  his  good  sensibilities,  and  desire  to  have 
evil  ones,  if  he  wishes  to  attain  true  morality.  In  this  doc- 
trine also  we  have  the  elect  and  the  reprobate.  Only,  here 
the  elect  are  those  who  are  born  with  vices :  the  condemned 
are  those  whom  Providence  has  made  good,  pious,  naturally 
sincere  and  courageous.  The  former  have  it  in  their  power 
to  acquire  a  true  moral  value:  the  latter  enjoy  a  happy 
temperament,  but  merit  and  morality  are  interdicted  to 
them.  If  it  had  been  possible  for  God  to  make  me  as  good 
as  himself,  I  should  be  the  most  unhappy  of  men ;  since  no 
virtue  would  be  left  for  me  to  attain  by  my  own  merits. 

I  think  that  we  may  find  in  Kant's  philosophy  itself  a  reply 
to  the  difficulty  which  has  just  been  suggested. 

It  seems  to  me  that  Kant,  in  his  profound  analysis  of  the 
moral  law,  has  formed  two  successive  ideas,  which  he  some- 
times distinguishes  and  sometimes  confounds.  He  starts 
with  the  idea  of  a  good  will,  a  pure  and  perfect  will,  un- 
ruffled by  passions,  which  obeys  the  law  out  of  respect  for 


356  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  law.  In  this  state  of  pure  will  it  is  evident  that  the 
agent  will  fulfil  the  law  without  any  sort  of  effort  or  resist- 
ance ;  he  identifies  himself  with  it ;  in  a  certain  sense  he 
himself  becomes  the  law.  It  is  this  state  of  pure,  absolute, 
infallible  will,  which  Kant  calls  holiness,  and  sets  up  as  an 
ideal  which  is  inaccessible  to  the  human  will.  Suppose,  now, 
that  this  law  exists  in  a  being  endowed  with  sensibility, 
closely  united  with  nature,  urged  on  by  appetites  and  in- 
clinations; this  pure  law,  encountering  resistance,  would 
become  a  rule  and  a  constraint;  it  would  become  duty. 
Duty,  then,  is  not  moral  law  in  its  purity.  It  is  the  moral 
law  which  has,  in  a  certain  sense,  descended  into  the  world 
of  sensation,  and  entered  into  conflict  with  the  passions. 

Thus,  according  to  Kant's  philosophy,  we  may  consider 
the  moral  law  from  two  points  of  view,  regarding  it  either 
abstractly  in  an  absolutely  reasonable  will,  or  regarding  it 

^     as  duty  in  a  being  who  is  at  once  reasonable  and  sensitive. 

-  '  The  love  of  the  pure  will  for  the  law  is  holiness :  the  har- 
mony of  the  human  will  with  duty  is  virtue. 

Though  these  two  points  of  view  have  been  very  clearly 
distinguished  by  Kant,  yet  he  often  forgets  the  distinction 
he  has  made ;  and,  when  he  wishes  to  speak  of  morality,  he 
always  takes  for  his  type  the  idea  of  duty,  instead  of  employ- 
ing the  idea  of  the  pure  and  absolute  will  with  which  he  set 
out.  Though  the  fact  of  having  rebellious  inclinations  is 
by  no  means  involved  in  the  abstract  idea  of  a  good  will,  yet 
he  always  makes  morality  consist  in  a  government  over  the 
inclinations.  That  which  is,  and  which  according  to  his 
own  theory  should  be,  merely  a  relative  condition,  becomes 
for  him  the  absolute  type  of  morality.  Hence  comes  that 
"  Judaic  and  military "  character  which  has  been  so  justly 
attributed  to  his  philosophy.  Hence  arise  also  those  para- 
doxical consequences  to  which  I  have  already  called  atten- 
tion, and  which  would  give  us  a  horror  of  all  moral  science 
if  this  were  really  commissioned  to  inspire  in  us  disgust  and 
aversion  for  all  the  lovely  qualities  of  the  soul  —  for  sacred 


THE   MORAL  SENTIMENT.  357 

innocence,  for  impulsive  charity,  for  unreflecting  affection, 
for  kindness,  and  for  pity. 

It  is  impossible  to  persuade  one's  self  that  a  state  of  war- 
fare with  all  the  inclinations  is  the  highest  ideal  for  man. 
It  is  self-evident  that  one  fights  to  conquer,  and  that,  when 
victory  is  once  gained,  its  reward  is  peace.  Jouffroy  has 
somewhere1  admirably  depicted  this  contrast  between  the 
militant  and  the  victorious  will  —  between  the  sublime  spec- 
tacle of  the  effort,  and  the  perfect  beauty  of  the  triumphant 
repose.  Virtue  is  not  the  end :  it  is  but  the  means.  It  is 
the  means  by  which  man  may  rise  to  his  full  purity,  his  full 
excellence,  his  full  dignity.  In  this  state  of  purity  and 
excellence,  the  soul  will  no  longer  need  to  exert  itself  to  do 
the  good:  it  will  have  become  good.  So  long  as  the  will 
struggles  against  evil,  it  is  not  yet  the  good  will:  it  only 
aspires  to  become  this.  If  it  struggles,  it  is  because  there  is 
temptation;  and  temptation  is  evidently  incompatible  with 
the  idea  of  a  perfect  will. 

Let  us  go  farther.  Let  us  attempt  to  rise,  with  Kant,  to 
the  conception  of  an  absolutely  good  will ;  and  let  us  inquire 
if  this  consists  in  obeying  the  law  out  of  respect  for  the  law. 
This  is  certainly  the  idea  of  duty ;  but  is  it  the  idea  of  holi- 
ness ?  Will  a  pure  will  rest  content  with  respecting  the  law  ? 
Will  it  not  conform  to  it  naturally,  spontaneously,  consenting 
fully  to  it  —  in  one  word,  loving  it  ?  I  will  say,  then,  modi- 
fying Kant's  formula,  that  a  pure  will  is  one  which  does  good 
for  the  love  of  good* 

Kant  conceives  good  only  as  being  something  intelligible. 
But  good  is  not  merely  intelligible,  it  is  lovable.  "  If  beauty," 
says  Plato,  "  could  appear  to  us  as  it  is,  and  unveiled,  it  would 
excite  in  us  surpassing  love."  What  Plato  said  of  the  beau- 
tiful may  also  be  said  of  the  good.  Aristotle,  who  is  not 
regarded  as  a  poet,  has  pictured  good,  also,  as  being  supremely 
lovable,  supremely  desirable. 

1  See  the  passage  on  the  faculties  of  the  soul,  in  his  first  Melanges  Philoso- 
phiques. 


I 


i 


/ 


358  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Thus,  in  a  state  of  absolute  purity,  the  will  is  simply  the  1 
voluntary  love  of  good,  without  effort,  without  struggle, 
without  obedience  to  a  dry  and  abstract  law.  What  we  call 
law  —  that  is  to  say,  duty  —  is  only  the  relation  of  this  pure 
will  to  our  actual  and  secret  will :  it  is  the  command  which 
the  superior  part  of  our  being  gives  to  its  inferior  part.  This 
is  the  reason  why  it  is  the  will  which  dictates  its  own  law, 
as  we  have  seen  to  be  the  case.  The  pure  will  is,  then,  iden- 
tical with  the  law :  it  is  not  subjected  to  the  law. 

Kant  made  a  profound  study  of  the  only  moral  sentiment 
which  he  was  willing  to  recognize  —  the  sentiment  of  respect. 
This  is,  he  says,  the  result  of  the  law,  and  hence  is,  like  the 
law  itself,  an  objective  and  formal  mutable,  which  cannot  be 
suspected  of  leading  to  eudsemonism.  But  the  same  thing 
might  be  said  of  love.  Love,  like  respect,  is  only  a  conse- 
quence of  the  law ;  and  I  cannot  love  a  law  of  which  I  know  j{ 
nothing.  Now,  if  to  act  from  respect  for  the  law  in  no  way 
diminishes  the  autonomy  of  my  will  and  the  purity  of  my  act, 
why  should  acting  from  love  of  the  law  diminish  in  any  way 
the  disinterestedness  of  virtue  ?  Besides,  whatever  Kant  may 
say,  though  the  sentiment  of  respect  may  unquestionably  be 
posterior  to  the  knowledge  of  the  law,  yet,  in  the  soul  of  him 
who  acts,  it  is  anterior  to  the  action.  Hence  it  enters  into 
the  action  as  a  determining  factor ;  and  therefore,  whatever 
may  be  said,  sensibility  is  concerned.  Kant  describes  this 
sentiment  in  such  a  way  that  one  cannot  really  tell  whether 
it  is  a  sentiment,  or  not.  Is  it  accompanied  by  pleasure  or 
by  pain  ?  In  that  case,  it  does  not  differ  in  any  respect  from 
the  other  moral  sentiments;  and  I  cannot  see  why  Kant 
should  give  it  such  special  privileges.  If  it  is  accompanied 
neither  by  pleasure  nor  by  pain,  how  can  it  be  called  a  senti- 
ment? At  bottom,  the  sentiment  of  respect  is  nothing  else 
than  the  sentiment  of  human  dignity;  that  is  to  say,  the 
pleasure  which  accompanies  the  idea  of  our  moral  grandeur, 
and  the  pain  which  accompanies  the  idea  of  its  forfeiture. 
Unquestionably  this  is  an  essential  part  of  the  moral  senti- 


THE  MORAL  SENTIMENT.  359 

ment ;  but  is  it  the  whole  ?  Is  it  the  best  ?  Is  it  the  purest, 
the  most  exalted  ?  Are  not  the  love  of  good  for  the  sake 
of  good,  the  love  of  moral  beauty  and  moral  purity,  the  love 
of  humanity  and  the  love  of  God  in  all,  sentiments  which 
are  fully  as  disinterested  as  the  sentiment  of  personal  dignity 
and  of  self-respect  —  perhaps  even  more  so  ? 

Kant  has  justly  remarked  that  the  sentiment  of  respect 
is  one  which  is  more  painful  than  agreeable,  because  it  is 
founded  above  all  on  the  consciousness  of  our  weakness  and 
of  our  moral  infirmity  in  the  presence  of  the  sanctity  of  the 
law.  In  reality,  Kant  here  directs  toward  the  law  —  that  is 
to  say,  toward  a  blind  and  abstract  power  —  that  sentiment 
of  secret  fear  which  pious  and  mystical  souls  feel  in  view  of 
the  infinite  grandeur  of  God.  But  whether  this  terror  is 
occasioned  by  the  idea  of  the  law,  or  by  the  idea  of  a  living 
divinity,  one  may  inquire  whether  fear  or  humility  is  the 
noblest  and  purest  sentiment  which  it  is  possible  to  feel  in 
view  of  absolute  sanctity,  in  whatever  way  one  may  conceive 
this  idea  of  abstract  sanctity.     Love  is  above  fear. 

Having  feared  the  law,  not  for  its  threatenings,  but  for  its 
grandeur  and  its  austerity,  I  say  that  we  ought  to  love  it  for 
its  beauty.  The  ancients  never  regarded  good  otherwise  than 
as  the  supremely  lovable,  supremely  desirable,  object.  The 
austere  Aristotle  himself,  the  severe  theorist  of  the  syllogism, 
utters  sublime  accents  of  emotion  when  he  speaks  of  the  love 
of  good.  In  Kant's  philosophy  there  is  a  sort  of  repellant 
Jansenism,  by  which  I  do  not  mean  that  he  would  sacrifice 
liberty  to  grace,  but  that  he  deprives  virtue  of  all  gracefulness 
and  all  beauty,  that  he  sees  in  it  only  constraint  and  disci- 
pline, instead  of  joy,  happiness,  and  charm.  It  is  a  monkish 
virtue,  to  which  the  rule  is  every  thing.  It  is  not  the  virtue 
of  the  Greeks,  of  a  Socrates,  a  Plato,  a  Fenelon  (for  he,  too, 
is  a  Greek)  —  a  virtue  accessible  and  sweet,  a  virtue  lovable 
and  noble,  a  virtue  in  which  rhythm  and  poetry  are  com- 
mingled. 'O  <j>t\6(Tocf>os  hovo-lkos  :  the  philosopher  is  a  musician. 
It  is  not  the  Christian  virtue  —  a  virtue  of  tenderness  and 


360  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

affection,  a  virtue  of  devotion  and  fraternity.     "Love  one 

|  another."     Kant  was  right  in  refusing  to  admit  that  there 

is  any  thing  superfluous  above  and  beyond  virtue :  he  was 

,  wrong  in  not  including  that  superfluity  within  virtue.     This 

necessary  superfluity  is  the  love  of  virtue. 

If  the  ideal  of  the  will  consists  in  the  love  of  good,  not 
because  the  law  commands  it,  but  because  it  is  good,  how 
can  it  be  regarded  as  a  moral  inferiority  if  we  enjoy  now  an 
anticipatory  image  of  that  perfect  state  of  excellence  which 
we  may,  if  we  please,  regard  as  the  state  of  the  blessed  in 
heaven?  Kindness  of  heart,  a  pure  and  holy  inclination 
toward  good,  are  a  sort  of  credit  already  obtained  toward 
that  ideal  perfection  to  which  we  must  rise  farther  by  our 
own  exertions. 

I  am  not  blind  to  the  difference  between  that  love  of  good 
which  we  receive  from  nature,  or  from  education,  and  the 
love  of  good  which  we  attain  by  our  own  efforts;  and  I 
admit,  that,  for  all  human  creatures,  moral  peace  conquered 
by  the  will  is  superior  to  the  joys  of  innocence,  however 
exquisite  these  may  be. 

I  desire  merely  to  say  that  our  natural  inclinations  are 
true  goods,  and  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  regret  them  in 
himself,  nor  to  disdain  them  in  others.  In  a  philosophy 
whose  absolute  ideal  would  be  obedience  to  the  law  from 
respect  for  the  law,  good  inclinations  find  no  place,  and  are 
even  more  hurtful  than  evil  ones :  for  the  latter  may,  at 
least,  be  vanquished ;  while  the  others,  by  relieving  us  from 
effort,  deprive  us  of  our  true  destiny.  But  in  a  philosophy 
whose  ideal  consists  in  doing  good  for  the  love  of  good, 
kindly  and  virtuous  inclinations  are  an  anticipation  of  that 
which  is  to  be  hereafter,  a  first  specimen  of  the  ideal  set 
before  us,  a  sort  of  foretaste  of  moral  excellence  and  beauty* 
We  ought  not  to  be  compelled  to  say  that  God  created  the 
heart  of  man  in  vain,  and  that  he  has  injured  us  by  his 
bounty. 

Some  may  fear  that  this  revindication  of  the  rights  of 


THE  MORAL  SENTIMENT.  361 

sentiment  may  weaken  the  principle  of  morality;  that  is  to 
say,  the  energy  of  individual  action  and  the  free  efforts  of  the 
will.  This  would  be  a  chimerical  fear.  The  predominance 
of  good  instincts,  even  in  the  best  of  men,  still  leaves  room 
enough  for  evil  inclinations,  so  that  there  will  remain  for 
some  time  to  come  a  sufficient  margin  for  the  imperious 
obligations  of  law  and  the  moral  conquests  of  the  free  will. 
The  more  highly  you  have  been  favored  by  nature,  the  more 
strictly  are  you  under  obligation  to  increase  this  natural 
good  by  your  efforts  to  attain  that  which  is  lacking.  Good 
sentiments  are  even  themselves  an  occasion  for  conflict  and 
moral  perfecting,  since  you  may  have  to  strive  against  the 
temptations  to  which  they  themselves  give  rise.  Sensibility 
is  a  snare  as  well  as  a  gift.  While  it  is  good  to  love  men, 
reason  and  duty  are  at  hand  to  tell  you  that  you  must  not 
sacrifice  the  austere  duty  of  justice  to  the  pleasing  virtue 
of  charity.  While  it  is  good  to  love  one's  family  and  one's 
friends,  it  is  none  the  less  a  duty  not  to  sacrifice  to  them 
either  the  good  of  others  or  the  interests  of  your  own  virtue. 

Thus  there  can  be  no  question  of  substituting  for  the 
morality  of  duty  the  morality  of  sentiment.  I  object  only 
to  Kant's  exaggeration,  by  which  he  excludes  sentiment 
entirely  from  the  domain  of  morality,  and  seems  too  often 
to  confound  the  means  of  morality  with  its  end.  The  end 
is,  to  succeed  in  being  good.  If  God  has  made  us  partly  so, 
and  thus  saved  us  some  of  the  exertion  necessary  for  attain- 
ing this  end,  it  would  be  a  very  imperfect  morality  which 
would  complain  of  this,  which  would  put  on  the  same  plane 
both  good  and  evil  sentiments,  and  even  discriminate  in  favor 
of  the  latter. 

Finally,  Kant  maintains  that  love  cannot  be  compelled 
to  love ;  that  sentiment  is  a  phenomenon  belonging  to  the 
order  of  nature,  which  can  be  neither  produced  nor  pre- 
vented ;  consequently  it  is  not  moral.  The  only  love  which 
he  recognizes  is  practical  love,  that  which  consists  in  acts. 
All  other  love  is,  in  his  opinion,  pathological ;  that  is  to  say, 
unhealthy. 


362  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Kant  is  undoubtedly  right  if  he  refers  to  that  false  sensi- 
bility or  sentimentality  which  the  poet  Gilbert  has  so  well 
described,  and  which  the  enervated  literature  of  the  end  of 
the  eighteenth  century  rendered  ridiculous.  One  should 
be  on  one's  guard  against  falling  into  effeminate  tenderness, 
or  into  a  maudlin  philanthropy  which  sacrifices  justice  to  a 
mawkish  sensibility.  But,  setting  aside  all  errors  and  abuses, 
there  still  remains  the  question  whether  we  do  not  owe 
something  to  our  own  feelings,  and  whether  action  is  the 
only  thing  enjoined  upon  us. 

It  is  true  that  it  does  not  depend  upon  our  wills  whether 
our  hearts  shall  be  more  or  less  sympathetic.  Nature  has 
made  some  souls  tender  and  affectionate,  some  cold  and 
austere,  some  heroic  and  stern,  etc. ;  and  moralists  should 
V  not  overlook  all  these  differences.  We  have  no  thermom- 
eter by  which  to  measure  the  degree  of  sensibility  which  is 
required  of  each  one  of  us.  But  two  facts  are  certain,  and 
authorize  us  to  limit  this  harsh  doctrine.  The  first  is,  that 
moral  emotion  (affection,  enthusiasm  for  the  beautiful,  for 
one's  country,  etc.)  is  not  entirely  lacking  in  any  human 
soul:  the  second  is,  that  sensibility  is  not  entirely  beyond 
the  reach  of  our  will.  We  can  stifle  our  good  sentiments 
just  as  we  can  our  evil  passions :  we  can  also  develop  and 
encourage  them,  and  give  them  a  greater  or  less  share  in 
our  lives,  by  putting  ourselves  in  the  circumstances  which 
excite  them.  For  instance,  a  certain  person  has  little  sensi- 
bility or  sympathy  for  the  sufferings  of  the  poor ;  but  it  is 
impossible  that  he  should  be  absolutely  destitute  of  any. 
Let  him  triumph  over  his  repugnance  and  indifference,  let 
him  see  the  poor,  let  him  put  himself  at  the  service  of  human 
misery :  sympathy  will  inevitably  be  awakened  in  his  heart. 
By  its  aid  he  will  perforin  what  is  good  more  readily,  and 
it  will  give  to  his  soul  a  new  degree  of  perfection  and  of 
beauty. 

Whatever  Kant  may  say,  sentiment  is  not,  then,  the  enemy 
of  virtue.     On  the  contrary,  it  is  its  ornament  and  its  flower. 


THE  MORAL  SENTIMENT.  363 

Aristotle  was  both  more  human  and  more  correct  when  he 
said ;  "  The  virtuous  man  is  the  one  who  finds  pleasure  in 
performing  virtuous  acts."  It  is  not  enough  to  be  virtuous : 
the  heart  must  find  pleasure  in  being  so.  If  nature  has 
been  kind  enough  to  give  us  the  first-fruits  of  this  feeling, 
we  shall  be  very  ungrateful  if  we  are  offended. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LIBEKTY. 

rj^HE  moral  consciousness  and  the  moral  sentiment  are 
-*-  not  the  only  subjective  conditions  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  good.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  know  and  to  love  it,  it 
must  also  be  willed.  Will  accompanied  by  consciousness  — 
that  is  to  say,  by  the  discernment  of  good  and  evil — is  what 
is  called  liberty. 

It  is  important  to  observe  that  liberty  may  be  regarded  in 
two  ways — either  as  the  end  toward  which  we  should  tend, 
as  the  object  of  moral  conduct ;  or  as  the  means  at  our  com- 
mand for  raising  ourselves  to  that  condition.  In  the  first 
sense  it  is  a  duty,  in  the  second  it  is  a  power. 

In  the  first  sense,  man  is  truly  free  only  when  he  is  eman- 
cipated, not  only  from  the  yoke  of  exterior  things,  but  also 
from  that  of  his  passions.  Every  one  admits  that  he  who 
blindly  obeys  his  desires  is  not  his  own  master,  but  is  the 
slave  of  his  body,  his  senses,  his  desires,  and  his  fears.  In 
this  sense  the  child  is  not  yet  free,  nor  the  passionate  man, 
nor  the  drunken  man.  It  is  no  longer  the  man  who  acts,  it 
is  nature  and  chance.  On  the  other  hand,  he  in  whom 
reason  reigns,  who  desires  in  every  thing  only  what  is  true 
and  good,  has  entire  possession  of  himself,  and  is  not  the 
sport  of  any  blind  force.  In  this  sense,  the  nearer  man  ap- 
proaches to  wisdom,  the  nearer  he  approaches  to  true  liberty; 
and  if  we  can  conceive  a  perfect  wisdom,  a  perfect  reason, 
we  at  the  same  time  conceive  perfect  liberty.  Hence  this 
first  meaning  does  not  include  the  power  of  doing  good  or 
evil,  and  of  choosing  between  the  two.     On  the  contrary,  to 

364 


LIBERTY.  365 

do  evil  is  to  cease  to  be  free :  to  do  good  is  to  be  truly  free. 
Perfect  liberty  is  thus  at  the  same  time  absolute  impecca- 
bility. 

But  are  we  free  to  seek  voluntarily  this  kind  of  liberty, 
identical  with  wisdom  itself,  and  the  opposite  of  slavery  to 
the  passions  ?  Can  we  choose  between  it  and  its  opposite  ? 
Here  liberty  assumes  a  new  meaning:  it  becomes  free  will;  it 
is  no  longer  an  end,  but  a  means.  Free  will  is  the  power  of 
choosing  between  liberty  and  slavery :  through  this  we  are 
voluntarily  free  or  voluntarily  enslaved.  He  who  consents 
to  passion,  puts  himself  under  the  yoke.  He  loses  his  lib- 
erty, but  he  wills  to  lose  it.  In  this  there  is  no  contradic- 
tion; for  men  have  been  known  to  sell  themselves  as  slaves, 
and  thus  freely  enter  into  slavery ;  others  have  been  known 
to  refuse  to  ransom  themselves.  So,  too,  whole  peoples  have 
been  known  to  renounce  their  liberty  voluntarily.  On  the 
other  hand,  one  may  be  free  in  spite  of  one's  self.  For  in- 
stance, a  child  who  is  forced  to  perform  reasonable  actions, 
a  passionate  man  who  is  compelled  to  emancipate  himself 
from  the  dominion  of  his  passion,  and  the  madman  who  is 
cured  by  violent  treatment.  All  these  submit  in  spite  of 
themselves  to  the  freedom  which  others  seek  to  regain  or  to 
preserve  for  them. 

Having  established  this  distinction,  the  problem  may  be 
thus  stated :  Are  we  free  to  be  free  ?  Or  thus :  Liberty,  or 
absolute  emancipation,  being  the  end  toward  which  we 
ought  to  tend,  have  we  within  ourselves  the  means  of  attain- 
ing it;  that  is  to  say,  have  we  free  will? 

All  philosophies  which  deny  the  existence  of  human 
liberty,  and  attribute  every  thing  to  necessity,  are  called 
fatalism.     Of  this  there  are  several  forms. 

1.  The  grossest  form  of  fatalism  is  that  which  is  called  in 
the  schools  the  fatum  mahometanum,1  and  consists  in  believ- 

1  According  to  the  later  historians  of  Mahometanism  (Mahomet  et  le  Coran, 
par  B.  Sainte-Hilaire,  p.  205),  it  is  unjust  to  impute  this  sort  of  fatalism  to 
Mahomet.    Nothing  like  it  is  found  in  the  Koran. 


366  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

ing  that  events  are  determined  and  connected  by  a  blind 
force  in  such  a  way,  that,  whatever  one  may  do,  a  certain 
thing  will  happen.  It  is  belief  in  an  occult  power  and  in  a 
sort  of  magic  stronger  than  any  special  causes.  The  formula 
of  this  fatalism  is  thus  expressed:  "It  was  written."  Begin- 
ning with  this  conception,  this  doctrine  leads  practically  to 
an  absolute  quietism,  since  nothing  can  be  done  contrary 
to  destiny.  This  is  what  Leibnitz  (like  the  ancients)  calls 
the  sophistry  of  indolence  (Xoyos  apyos),  and  thus  refutes:  — 

"This  consideration  introduces  at  the  same  time  what  the  ancients 
called  the  sophistry  of  indolence,  which  leads  one  to  do  nothing  whatever. 
For,  they  say,  if  what  I  wish  is  fated  to  happen,  it  will  happen,  even  if  I 
do  nothing ;  and  if  it  is  fated  not  to  happen,  it  will  never  happen,  no  mat- 
ter what  trouble  I  may  take.  This  necessity  which  is  supposed  to  exist  in 
events,  independent  of  any  cause,  might  be  termed  the  fatum  mahometa- 
num;  since  it  is  said  that  a  similar  train  of  reasoning  leads  the  Turks  not 
to  avoid  places  where  a  pestilence  is  raging.  But  the  answer  readily 
suggests  itself  :  if  the  effect  is  certain,  so  is  the  cause  which  produces  it ; 
and  if  the  effect  is  produced,  it  may  be  so  by  a  proportionate  cause. 
Thus  your  indolence  may  be  the  cause  why  you  will  not  obtain  any  of 
the  things  which  you  desire,  and  you  may  suffer  evils  which  you  would 
have  escaped  by  acting  with  care.  We  see  that  the  union  of  causes  with 
effects,  far  from  producing  an  insupportable  fatality,  provides  us  rather 
with  the  means  of  avoiding  this.  There  is  a  German  proverb  which 
says  that  death  must  always  have  a  cause.  Nothing  can  be  truer.  You 
will  die  to-day  —  supposing  that  this  is  fated  and  is  foreseen  —  yes,  un- 
doubtedly ;  but  it  will  be  because  you  will  do  something  that  will  cause 
your  death.  .  .  .  The  sophistry  which  leads  men  not  to  trouble  them- 
selves about  any  thing  may,  perhaps,  be  sometimes  useful  in  inducing  a 
certain  kind  of  people  to  run  blindly  into  danger.  This  has  been  seen 
especially  in  the  case  of  Turkish  soldiers,  though  it  seems  as  if  the  Mas- 
lach  had  more  to  do  with  this  than  the  sophistry.  Moreover,  this  Turk- 
ish spirit  of  determination  has  not  been  greatly  displayed  in  our  days." 

2.  A  second  kind  of  fatalism  is  theological  fatalism,  or 
the  doctrine  of  predestination.  According  to  this,  God  de- 
termined beforehand  the  elect  and  the  reprobate,  the  saints 
and  the  sinners,  choosing  the  elect  by  an  act  of  favor,  and 
abandoning  the  others  to  eternal  damnation.     This  doctrine, 


LIBERTY.  /(TJinVBfcllSlTl 


by  denying  the  existence  of  free  will,  invol 
inconvenient  results  as  the  former.  In  fact,  if  my  destin 
depends  entirely  on  the  choice  and  the  will  of  God,  what 
can  I  do  to  change  it?  or  what  need  I  fear?  If  I  am  one  ot 
the  elect,  I  shall  be  saved  anyhow :  if  I  am  one  of  the  repro- 
bate, nothing  can  prevent  my  ruin.  Nothing  is  left  but  to 
cultivate  absolute  indifference  to  the  results  of  the  divine 
decrees.  Besides,  this  doctrine  gives  God  altogether  too 
much  the  appearance  of  a  tyrant,  who  acts  from  mere  ca- 
price, and  who  relies  on  his  power,  instead  of  on  justice.  But 
the  doctrine  of  predestination  was  never  maintained  quitex 
so  strictly  as  is  claimed :  theologians  have  always  admitted 
that  there  was,  at  least  humanly  speaking,  some  room  for 
the  exercise  of  free  will. 

3.  The  third  kind  of  fatalism  is  the  geometric,  or  Spino- 
zian  fatalism.  According  to  Spinoza,  all  the  phenomena  of 
the  universe,  consequently  all  human  actions,  arise  from  the 
nature  of  things  just  as  inevitably  as  the  nature  of  the  tri- 
angle arises  from  the  equality  of  its  three  angles  to  two 
right  angles.  "According  to  this  system,"  as  Bayle  says, 
"it  was  just  as  impossible  from  all  eternity  that  Spinoza 
should  die  elsewhere  than  in  the  Hague  as  it  is  that  two  and 
two  should  make  six."  But,  whatever  Spinoza  says,  it  may 
be  doubted  whether  every  thing  in  nature  and  in  man  is 
geometric.  For  instance,  the  charm  which  attracts  us  to 
pleasure  has  no  analogy  with  the  logical  necessity  which 
deduces  one  idea  from  another.  Pleasure  and  pain  are 
themselves  immediate  facts  which  cannot  be  compared  with 
ideas,  whether  primitive  or  derivative.  Suppose  that  it  were 
even  possible  to  find  and  demonstrate  a  priori  the  cause  of 
pleasure,  this  would  not  suffice  for  one  who  was  incapable 
of  feeling  the  pleasure.  He  would  be  in  a  position  like  that 
of  the  blind  Saunderson,  who  knew  as  well  as  anybody  the 
geometric  laws  of  light,  but  who  had  no  idea  of  its  sensation. 
If  sight  had  been  suddenly  given  to  him,  he  would  have 
experienced  a  new  sensation,  to  which  his  geometric  knowl- 


368  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

edge  of  light  would  not  have  contributed  in  the  least.  Is  it 
claimed  that  the  logical  explanation  lies  within  the  essence 
of  the  soul,  and  not  in  exterior  causes?  Granted;  but  no 
logic  can  ever  give  the  intuition  of  one  of  the  facts  of  sen- 
sibility to  him  who  has  never  felt  it.  God  himself  may 
know  the  nature  of  pain,  but  he  cannot  know  the  fact  of 
pain.  Hence  there  are  other  laws  than  those  of  geometry. 
If  this  is  true  of  sensibility,  how  much  more  true  is  it  of 
the  will.  There  is  nothing  in  geometry  resembling  this. 
The  triangle  does  not  wish  to  have  its  three  angles  equal  to 
two  right  angles.  To  say  with  Hegel  that  liberty  is  the 
consciousness  of  necessity  —  even  supposing  that  this  defini- 
nition  were  correct  —  would  be  to  introduce  an  idea  foreign 
to  pure  mathematics,  for  consciousness  is  a  fact  which  is 
foreign  to  mathematical  laws :  the  triangle  is  not  conscious 
of  itself.  In  a  word,  consciousness,  liberty,  pleasure,  and 
pain,  are  primitive  facts,  which  cannot  be  logically  deduced 
from  any  thing.  Hence  not  every  thing  is  subjected  to  a 
logical  or  mathematical  necessity. 

Having  rejected  the  various  systems  which  absolutely 
deny  human  liberty,  and  place  man  in  the  hands  of  God  or 
of  nature  as  a  stick  is  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  man,  "sicut 
baculus"  the  question  arises  whether  we  should  class  under 
the  head  of  fatalism  the  system  called  determinism,  which 
teaches  that  human,  i.e.,  spiritual,  as  well  as  exterior  actions, 
are  subject  to  the  law  of  cause  and  effect,  and  according 
to  which  actions  are  the  inevitable  results  of  the  deter- 
mining conditions  which  precede  them  —  that  is  to  say, 
of  their  motives.  Some  of  those  who  advocate  this  doctrine 
deny  the  existence  of  a  free  will :  others,  like  Leibnitz,  be- 
lieve that  it  is  not  irreconcilable  with  moral  freedom. 

Those  who  maintain  that  every  sort  of  determinism  is 
utterly  opposed  to  freedom,  are  obliged  to  admit  that  the 
soul  is  capable  of  acting  without  a  motive ;  that  is,  of 
choosing  one  side  rather  than  another  without  any  reason 
whatever.     This  is   called  indifferent  liberty,  or  the  liberty 


LIBERTY. 

of  indifference.  But  however  weak  may  be  the  influence 
which  is  attributed  to  motives,  unless  they  have  none  at  all, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  they  count  for  something  in  the 
determination  of  the  will.  Now,  in  order  to  refute  this  idea 
of  the  liberty  of  indifference,  it  is  not  necessary  to  prove 
that  it  is  impossible :  it  suffices  to  show  that  it  is  useless. 
Indeed,  of  what  use  is  it  to  prove  that  we  are  free  in  indif- 
ferent actions  ?  The  question  of  liberty  never  arises  in 
reference  to  that  sort  of  action,  but  only  when  the  action 
has  a  moral  character.  Now,  actions  of  this  kind  are  never 
indifferent,  and  they  always  imply  the  existence  of  motives. 
For  instance,  I  do  evil  only  because  I  obey  the  impulses 
of  passion ;  and  I  do  good  because  I  obey  the  commands  of 
duty.  Now,  duty  and  passion  are  very  certain  and  very 
perceptible  motives  for  action.  If  it  be  proved  that  I  am 
free  when  no  motive  exists,  does  it  follow  that  I  shall  be  so 
when  motives  are  present?  On  the  contrary,  if  the  most 
perfect  and  self-evident  freedom  were  that  of  a  state  of 
absolute  equilibrium,  does  it  not  plainly  follow  that  this 
freedom  will  diminish  in  proportion  as  this  equilibrium  dis- 
appears, and  consequently  in  those  very  actions  with  which 
moral  science  is  concerned,  and  in  reference  to  which  the 
existence  of  free  will  is  claimed  ? 

Hence  we  cannot  assent  to  this  liberty  of  indifference ; 
and  in  rejecting  this  we  thereby  admit  that  the  law  of 
causality  applies  to  the  soul  as  well  as  to  the  body,  and  thus 
we  accept  a  certain  determinism.  The  question  is,  in  what 
sense  this  shall  be  understood;  for  determinism  has  many 
forms.  I  recognize  three  species  of  it,  which  are,  or  seem  to 
be,  essentially  different,  or  at  least  widely  varying. 

1.  Imagine  a  billiard-ball  impelled  by  another  ball,  this  ball 
being  driven  forward  by  the  cue,  and  this,  in  its  turn,  being 
set  in  motion  by  the  hand  of  the  player.  The  motion  of 
each  of  these  bodies  is  caused  by  the  force  exerted  upon  it 
by  the  body  which  comes  in  contact  with  it :  there  is  a  suc- 
cession of  movements*,  each  of  which  is  due  to  an  anterior 


370  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

movement.  In  this  mechanical  series,  each  body  is  subjected 
to  the  action  of  another  body ;  it  is  influenced  by  a  foreign 
and  exterior  body:  and  it  is  an  established  law  of  matter, 
that  no  body  can  begin,  nor  suspend,  nor  modify  in  swift- 
ness or  in  direction,  the  movement  imparted  to  it.  Now, 
among  human  actions,  there  are  some  which  are  exactly  like 
those  I  have  just  described.  For  instance,  one  whose  hands 
were  held  and  guided  forcibly  in  the  signature  of  a  paper, 
or  in  giving  a  blow,  would  be  like  a  stick  in  the  hands  of  a 
traveller,  or  a  stone  cast  out  of  a  sling :  he  would  no  longer 
be  an  agent,  but  would  be  an  instrument.  This  instrument 
incurs  no  responsibility  whatever,  any  more  than  do  the 
organs  which  are  only  the  instruments  of  our  wills. 
"  When  the  arm  sins,  the  head  is  punished." 
This  first  kind  of  determinism — that  is,  that  in  which 
the  determining  cause  is  exterior  to  the  agent  —  is  called 
constraint  or  violence ;  and  there  is  no  liberty  whatever  in 
it.  To  this  kind  of  extrinsic  and  mechanical  determinism 
belong  all  those  states  of  the  soul  which  have  their  imme- 
diate and  sole  cause,  not  merely  in  foreign  bodies,  but  in 
the  human  body  itself.  Such,  for  instance,  are  the  states 
of  slumber,  of  madness,  of  delirium,  in  which  man  is  under 
the  control  of  his  organs,  just  as  he  is,  in  the  other  cases, 
under  that  of  exterior  agents. 

2.  From  this  first  kind  of  determinism,  we  must  distinguish 
a  second  —  that  in  which  the  determining  cause  is  no  longer 
an  exterior  agent,  nor  even  the  organs  of  the  body,  but  is 
in  the  moral  agent  himself,  and  lies  in  his  different  psycho- 
logical states.  For  instance,  the  man  who  obeys  his  own 
instincts  and  the  innate  tendencies  of  his  nature  —  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation,  the  love  of  pleasure,  the  fear 
of  pain — unquestionably  cannot  be  called  free.  But  he  is 
one  degree  above  those  physical  agents  whose  action  is  deter- 
mined only  by  external  causes,  and  is  even  above  the  state 
in  which  he  finds  himself  when  he  is  constrained  by  a  force 
greater  than  his  own  to  act  contrary  to*  his  impulses.     Exte- 


LIBERTY.  371 

rior  constraint  violates  his  will,  and  renders  it  useless :  he 
follows  his  own  inclinations  voluntarily.  He  consents,  he  is 
their  accomplice :  and  therefore  he  enjoys  in  that  state  a  supe- 
rior degree  of  liberty ;  though  it  is  not  entire,  nor  even  true, 
liberty.     But  at  least  it  is  the  image  and  the  germ  of  this. 

Here,  then,  we  already  have  two  widely  different  kinds 
of  determinism  —  that  in  which  the  cause  of  the  action  is 
outside  of  the  agent,  which  is  passivity ;  and  that  in  which 
the  cause  is  within  the  agent  himself,  which  is  activity,  or 
spontaneity. 

3.  But  even  spontaneity  is  not  the  highest  degree  of 
activity.  Above  instinctive  or  impulsive  spontaneity  (or  the 
power  of  acting  under  the  control  of  our  natural  impulses) 
stands  rational  spontaneity,  or  the  power  of  acting  in  accord- 
ance with  our  ideas  or  conceptions.  Psychological  analysis 
teaches  us  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  phenomena  within 
man:  the  phenomena  of  the  sensibility  —  pleasures  or  pains, 
passions  and  sensations  —  and  the  phenomena  of  intelli- 
gence. The  former  are  simple  affections,  or  modifications 
which  merely  indicate  the  state  of  the  soul  at  the  moment 
when  it  is  affected.  The  second  always  imply  the  existence 
of  some  object,  and  intelligence  is  essentially  the  faculty  of 
representing  an  object  to  one's  self.  Hence  it  follows,  that 
an.  act  of  intelligence,  being  representative  or  contemplative, 
can  exercise  no  direct  control  over  the  will.  Now,  an  idea, 
in  so  far  as  it  represents  an  action  to  us  as  one  which  ought 
to  be  performed,  is  a  motive,  or,  as  Kant  calls  it,  an  imperative?- 
This  imperative  commands,  but  does  not  constrain.  Thus, 
when  we  obey  a  motive  of  this  sort,  we  feel  that  we  are 
obliged  to  make  an  effort  to  constrain  ourselves.  Our  will 
does  not,  of  its  own  accord,  tend  toward  the  end  which  our 
understanding  shows  us.  It  is  obliged  to  exert  itself,  to 
struggle  with  inclinations,  to  produce  its  own  action  by  a 
sort  of  creation  ex  nilxilo  —  at  least,  in  the  sense  that  the 
action  does  not  always  flow  necessarily  from  an  anterior  state, 
i  No  matter  whether  it  is  hypothetical  or  categorical. 


372  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

This  is  liberty,  which  may  be  defined  as  the  power  of  acting  in 
accordance  with  conceptions.  By  the  intervention  of  the  under- 
standing the  will  is  emancipated:  first,  from  exterior  con- 
straint ;  second,  from  the  interior  constraint  of  the  impulses. 
It  is,  to  use  Kant's  phrase,  the  power  to  initiate  a  movement. 
The  interior  sentiment  of  liberty  is,  then,  that  sentiment 
which  we  have  of  this  power,  which,  although  guided  by 
the  understanding,  finds  in  itself  alone  the  power  to  realize 
what  the  understanding  proposes. 

I  therefore  distinguish  three  different  states,  or  modes,  of 
action,  and  also  three  kinds  of  determinism : 

1.  The  mode  of  action  when  the  cause  is  outside  of  the 
agent  —  external  determinism,  or  passivity  ; 

2.  The  mode  of  action  when  the  cause  is  internal,  but  is 
determined  by  the  impulses — internal  determinism,  or  spon- 
taneity; 

3.  The  mode  of  action  when  the  cause  is  internal,  but  is 
determined  by  ideas  —  rational  determinism,  or  liberty. 

This  third  state  is  the  one  which  we  must  study  carefully, 
so  that  we  may  thoroughly  understand  its  nature,  and  thus 
be  enabled  to  answer  the  various  objections  which  are  made 
to  liberty. 

The  definition  of  liberty  which  I  have  just  given  —  the 
power  of  acting  in  accordance  with  conceptions  or  ideas  — 
must  not  be  confounded  with  similar  ones ;  for  instance,  that 
given  by  Leibnitz,  "Liberty  is  conscious  spontaneity,"  or 
with  that  of  Hegel,  "  Liberty  is  the  understanding  of  neces- 
sity." These  two  definitions  are  undoubtedly  correct,  pro- 
vided they  are  properly  explained.  But  they  are  susceptible 
of  several  interpretations. 

To  act  consciously  may  mean  two  things :  it  may  be  simply 
to  act,  being  internally  aware  that  one  is  acting ;  or  it  may 
mean  to  act  with  deliberation.  In  the  first  case,  conscious- 
ness is  merely  the  inner  sense :  in  the  second,  it  is  reflection. 

Now,  in  order  that  spontaneity,  may  become  liberty,  it  is 
not  enough  that  it  should  be  made  perceptible  to  itself  by 


LIBERTY.  873 

the  inner  sense,  as  this  is  done  in  a  dream  or  in  passion,  and 
even,  apparently,  among  animals.  In  beings  endowed  with 
sensibility,  the  impulses  and  tendencies  are  accompanied  by 
consciousness,  yet  do  not  lose  thereby  their  true  character 
of  fated  spontaneity. 

The  case  is  altered  when  by  consciousness  we  understand 
the  fact  of  deliberating  upon  one's  action,  of  knowing  that 
one  obeys  passion,  which  could  not  be  unless  one  had 
already  distinguished  between  passion  and  reason.  For  it 
is  only  after  having  learned  that  passion  is  contrary,  or  con- 
formable, either  to  our  own  good  or  to  good  in  general,  that 
we  are  able  to  comprehend  passion  as  such,  and  to  be  con- 
scious of  it.  Thus  it  is  by  the  presence  of  an  idea  that 
passion  becomes  conscious  of  itself,  that  it  recognizes  and 
judges  itself.  In  this  second  sense,  to  act  spontaneously 
with  consciousness,  is  to  act  in  conformity  with  an  idea. 

Now,  my  theory  differs  from  that  of  Leibnitz  in  this  re- 
spect :  he  considers  that  the  determining  reason  always  lies 
within  the  inclination,  and  consciousness  is  merely  an  accom- 
paniment of  the  action.  According  to  my  theory,  on  the  con- 
trary, there  can  be  no  liberty  save  on  the  condition  that  there 
was  previously  consciousness ;  that  is,  an  ideal  conception  of 
the  action.  In  my  view,  as  in  the  common  opinion,  to  be  free 
is  to  act  with  a  full  knowledge  of  the  reason,  intentionally  : 
liberty  is  when  the  will  is  directed  toward  the  end  repre- 
sented by  the  mind,  whether  this  end  is  pleasing  to  it,  or  not. 
In  a  word,  in  Leibnitz'  view,  consciousness  of  the  action 
is  merely  consecutive :  in  mine  it  is  antecedent.  Having 
made  this  explanation,  I  will  readily  accept  this  abridged 
and  exact  formula :  "  Liberty  is  conscious  spontaneity." 

I  interpret  in  the  same  way  Hegel's  formula  that  liberty 
is  an  "  understood  necessity."  In  one  sense  this  formula  is 
simply  pure  fatalism:  in  another,  it  resembles  my  theory. 
To  define  liberty  as  "  the  consciousness  of  necessity  "  would, 
indeed,  be  equivalent  to  the  proclamation  of  fatalism.  Sup- 
pose, for  instance,  that  a  triangle  could  become  conscious 


374  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

of  itself,  and  could  understand  the  logical  necessity  which 
combines  its  characteristics  with  its  nature :  evidently  it 
would  be  a  misuse  of  terms  to  call  it  free  for  this  reason. 

But  in  one  way  it  may  be  admitted  that  the  consciousness 
of  necessity  abrogates  the  necessity.  If  one  understands 
that  an  evil  is  inevitable,  and  resigns  himself  to  it,  he  is  no 
longer  the  slave  of  a  mere  brutish  necessity  ;  he  is  no  longer 
submissive  to  fate;  he  is  now  submissive  to  reason.  For 
example,  to  accept  death  as  inevitable  because  it  results 
from  the  nature  of  things,  is  to  be  free  from  death.  To  fear 
it,  is  to  be  its  slave.  He  who  dies  in  spite  of  himself,  resist- 
ing death,  is  struck  down  by  it  as  a  slave  by  a  master.  He 
who  understands  that  it  is  necessary  —  that  is  to  say,  reason- 
able—  consents  to  die.  He  is  then  free  as  regards  death. 
If  he  goes  farther,  and  sees  in  death,  not  merely  a  necessary 
result  of  the  laws  of  life,  but  the  intentional  act  of  a  foresee- 
ing will,  in  accepting  this  act  with  the  understanding  that 
Providence  assigns  it  to  him,  he  emancipates  himself  from 
fate. 

But,  if  the  first  degree  of  liberty  is  the  free  acceptance  of 
a  necessity,  the  commanding  of  that  necessity  is  a  still  higher 
degree.  For  instance,  so  far  as  they  obey  their  instincts 
without  comprehending  them,  the  animals  are  under  the 
yoke  of  necessity.  But,  so  soon  as  we  rise  to  a  comprehen- 
sion of  this  necessity  of  the  inclinations,  we  are  thereby 
emancipated  from  it ;  for  henceforth,  instead  of  yielding  to 
them  like  the  brutes,  we  learn  to  follow  them  with  judgment, 
choosing  the  way  in  which  they  shall  be  sacrificed,  and  mak- 
ing the  satisfaction  of  some  subordinate  to  that  of  other 
more  noble  ones.  In  the  same  way  we  become  masters  of 
nature  by  understanding  the  necessity  of  natural  laws.  In 
each  of  these  cases,  liberty  is  the  power  of  acting  according 
to  ideas. 

But  from  this  definition  arise  difficulties  which  it  is  neces- 
sary to  solve.  If  liberty  is  the  power  of  being  guided  by 
reason,  does  it  not  follow  that  we  are  not  free  when,  instead 


LIBERTY.  375 

of  listening  to  the  voice  of  reason,  we  obey  that  of  passion  ? 
Now,  if  man  is  not  free  to  obey  or  disobey  passion,  how  can 
he  be  responsible  for  what  he  does  ?  Should  we  not  then  be 
forced  to  say  with  Plato,  that  wickedness  is  involuntary  ?  or 
with  the  physiologists,  that  crime  or  vice  is  merely  a  mad- 
ness, and  that  the  wicked  man  should  be  cured,  not  pun- 
ished ;  that  he  is  both  guilty  and  innocent,  or,  rather,  that 
there  are  no  guilty  men,  but  only  unfortunates  ? 

It  would  be  no  answer  to  this  to  reply  that  common 
parlance  coincides  with  this  hypothesis.  For  is  it  not  said 
of  a  man  who  is  under  the  yoke  of  his  passions,  that  passion 
is  slavery  ?  that  a  man  in  this  condition  no  longer  belongs 
to  himself,  is  no  longer  his  own  master,  which  seems  to  indi- 
cate that  he  is  not  free  ?  But,  in  speaking  thus,  it  is  gener- 
ally understood  that  the  yoke  is  voluntarily  assumed,  that 
the  slavery  is  accepted  willingly ;  and  this  is  what  makes 
it  disgraceful :  otherwise  it  would  only  be  unfortunate.  A 
prisoner  loaded  with  chains  is  not  ashamed  of  them ;  but  a 
slave  who  could  free  himself,  and  does  not  care  to  do  so, 
deserves  contempt.  Thus,  there  may  be  a  voluntary  servi- 
tude, to  use  La  Boetie's  expression ;  and  therefore,  while 
recognizing  the  fact  that  the  passions  impose  servitude  upon 
us,  the  general  opinion  of  mankind,  nevertheless,  regards  this 
as  a  servitude  which  is  free  in  its  principle,  accepted  and 
desired  in  its  consequences,  and  consequently  culpable. 

The  question  then  rises  again :  how  can  one  be  free  in  his 
passion  if  liberty  consists  in  acting  in  accordance  with  ideas  ? 

I  reply :  so  far  as  we  are  passionate,  we  are  not  free  in  our 
passion.  An  angry  man  is  not  free  so  long  as  he  is  angry. 
But  he  is  free  in  so  far  as  he  knows  that  anger  is  a  vice 
which  is  injurious  to  him  and  to  others.  So  soon  as  this 
idea  presents  itself  to  his  mind,  the  fatal  force  of  his  passion 
is  gone.  I  see  clearly  that  I  can  obey  reason.  But,  under 
these  circumstances,  to  be  able  to  obey  reason  is  to  be  able 
to  resist  passion.  However,  as  passion  is  a  force  which 
tends  to  draw  me  in  the  opposite  direction  from  that  indi- 


376  THE  THEORY  OF  MORAIJS. 

cated  by  reason,  it  follows  that  I  can  obey  the  latter  only 
by  an  effort  which  will  counteract  the  influence  of  the 
former.  It  is  the  consciousness  of  this  effort,  this  tension  of 
myself  against  myself  (a  tension  which  would  be  impossible 
but  for  the  presence  of  the  idea),  which  constitutes  the  con- 
viction that  the  will  is  free.  For,  on  the  one  hand,  so  long 
as  I  resist,  I  feel  clearly  that  I  can  resist  (ab  actu  ad  posse)  ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  feel,  that,  if  I  were  to  abandon  this 
effort  for  a  single  instant,  passion  would  suddenly  take  pos- 
session of  me.  Now,  it  is  quite  clear  that  I  could  cease  mak- 
ing this  exertion ;  for  it  is  easier  to  suspend  a  fatiguing  effort 
than  to  continue  it.  I  then  perceive  within  me,  to  use  Aris- 
totle's words,  a  power  which  includes  opposites.  Now,  this 
is  liberty. 

Let  us  not  forget  the  distinction  already  made  between 
two  kinds,  or  rather  two  degrees,  of  liberty  —  liberty  as  an 
end,  and  liberty  as  a  means.  To  be  perfectly  reasonable  is 
to  be  perfectly  free :  this  is  liberty  as  an  end.  To  be  capa- 
ble of  resisting  one's  inclinations,  or  of  yielding  to  them,  is 
liberty  regarded  as  a  means,  or  free  will.  But,  in  reality, 
these  two  kinds  of  liberty  are  but  one ;  for  it  is  only  by 
being  already  reasonable,  that  I  feel  myself  capable  of  be- 
coming more  so.  It  is  because  I  am  already  free,  that  I  can 
make  an  effort  to  become  freer  —  that  is  to  say,  to  reach  the 
point  where  I  shall  no  longer  need  to  make  an  effort.  Lib- 
erty attests  itself  to  me  by  difficulty,  but  its  ideal  is  in  per- 
fect facility.  In  so  far  as  liberty  is  difficult,  I  find  myself 
divided  and  hesitating ;  I  feel  myself  capable  of  choice  and 
of  preference  ;  I  weigh,  I  compare,  I  deliberate.  This  inter- 
mediate state  is  that  which  is  called  free  will. 

All  the  difficulties  raised  by  my  definition  of  liberty  have 
.not  yet  been  answered. 

If  free  will  consists,  as  has  just  been  said,  in  the  effort 
-which  we  make  to  resist  our  inclinations,  what  shall  be  said 
of  men  who  are  incapable  of  such  an  effort ;  who  not  only 
•do  not  continue  it,  but  who  do  not  even  ever  undertake  it  ? 


LIBERTY.  377 

Then,  they  are  not  free ;  consequently  they  are  not  responsi- 
ble ;  and  this  would  seem  to  be  the  condition  of  the  majority 
of  men. 

It  must,  indeed,  be  admitted  as  a  fact  proved  by  experi- 
ence, that  men  are  not  all  capable  of  making  the  same  ef- 
forts ;  that  they  have  not  what  is  called  an  equal  will-power. 
Certainly,  not  every  man  would  be  able  quietly  to  let  his 
hand  burn  away  in  the  fire  as  did  Mucius  Scevola.  How 
many  men  have  been  unable  to  endure  the  torture  !  There 
are  strong  souls  and  weak  souls :  common  sense  bears  testi- 
mony to  this.  Hence  comes  that  general  indulgence  for  the 
weaknesses  of  particular  men  —  while  condemning  vice  in 
general  —  which  morality  and  religion  agree  in  recommending 
to  us.  "Forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do." 
Now,  the  liberty  of  each  individual  comes  from  the  strength 
which  he  is  capable  of  exerting  in  resisting  his  inclinations. 
This  strength  varies  with  the  individual.  Hence  we  must 
conclude  that  free  will  differs  with  the  individual,  that  there 
are  degrees  of  liberty,  that  liberty  is  not  absolute,  and  finally, 
that  each  one  is  morally  responsible  only  according  to  the 
measure  of  his  liberty  —  a  doctrine  which  is  in  perfect  har- 
mony with  all  the  habits  and  judgments  of  common  sense. 

But,  if  all  men  have  not  the  same  power  of  resistance  to 
their  inclinations,  does  it  follow  that  they  have  no  power  at 
all  ?  If  each  is  capable  of  a  certain  degree  of  effort,  is  not 
this  enough  to  make  him  free?  And  does  not  our  inner 
experience  prove  to  each  one  of  us,  that,  however  weak  we 
may  be,  we  are  never  so  feeble  as  to  be  utterly  incapable  of 
resisting  any  of  our  inclinations?  Now,  from  this  first 
degree  of  capability  of  effort,  we  may  raise  ourselves  to  a 
second,  from  that  to  another,  and,  rising  step  by  step,  may 
attain  a  moral  strength  which  we  should  at  first  have  be- 
lieved impossible.  Do  not  all  moralists  agree  in  teaching  us 
that  we  must  resist  evil  at  the  beginning,  principiis  obsta, 
attack  it  by  degrees,  not  defer  the  conflict  until  the  passion 
has  become  irresistible,  etc.  ?     Is  not  this  an  admission  that 


378  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

there  is  here  no  question  of  seeking  to  claim  for  man  a  chi- 
merical liberty,  which  should  triumph  over  nature  unreserv- 
edly, without  proportion  or  degree ;  but  rather  a  reasonable 
liberty,  which,  constantly  exercised,  rises  from  one  degree  to 
another  by  continuous  effort  ? 

The  theory  that  liberty  consists  in  acting  in  accordance 
with  ideas  gives  rise  to  two  other  important  difficulties. 

The  first  is,  that  man  never  acts  in  accordance  with  an 
abstract  idea,  and  that  some  inclination,  whether  perceived  or 
not,  always  mingles  with  the  motives  which  reason  furnishes. 

The  second  is,  that,  when  there  are  two  inclinations,  the 
strongest,  which  Leibnitz  calls  the  prevalent,  inclination 
always  carries  the  day.  In  other  words,  it  is  one  of  the  tra- 
ditional maxims  of  the  schools,  that  "  the  will  always  follows 
the  greatest  good." 

I  grant  the  first  maxim.  No  man  has  ever  acted  in  ac- 
cordance with  pure  reason,  just  as  he  has  never  had  knowl- 
edge of  any  thing  by  pure  reason.  Some  inclination  is 
always  mingled  with  our  motives,  just  as  some  image  from 
the  sensitive  world  is  always  mingled  with  our  conceptions. 
But  if  reason  does  not  form  the  whole  of  our  motives,  even 
in  our  most  excellent  actions,  does  it  follow  that  it  has  no 
part  in  them,  or  that  it  may  not  form  their  essential  part, 
that  which  gives  the  act  its  true  character  ?  If  reason  has 
any  share  in  our  determinations,  that  is  enough  to  emanci- 
pate our  will.  Hence  we  can  draw  no  conclusions  adverse 
to  liberty  from  this  first  maxim.  All  the  difficulty  —  and  it 
is  very  grave  —  lies  in  the  second. 

This  maxim,  "  The  will  always  follows  the  greatest  good," 
seems  in  a  certain  sense  self-evident.  Plato  was  much 
struck  with  this  idea,  and  he  has  expressed  it  several  times 
in  his  writings :  — 

"  No  one  [he  says]  will  voluntarily  seek  evil,  or  what  he  believes  to  be 
evil.  It  is  not  in  the  nature  of  man  that  he  should  seek  after  evil  instead 
of  after  good.  If  forced  to  choose  between  two  evils,  no  one  would 
choose  the  greater  if  he  had  power  to  choose  the  lesser." 


LIBERTY.  379 

From  this  principle  Plato  drew  the  conclusion,  that,  when 
men  do  evil,  it  is  through  ignorance  of  the  true  good ;  and 
that  it  is  a  popular  error  to  think  that  man  can  know  the 
good,  and  do  the  evil.  On  the  contrary,  let  him  once  know 
good  as  such,  and  it  is  impossible  that  the  will  should  not 
turn  toward  it ;  and,  when  there  are  two  goods  of  unequal 
value,  it  will  choose  that  which  is  known  to  be  the  better. 

Locke,  in  his  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  argues 
admirably  against  the  opinion  just  cited :  — 

"  This,  I  think,  any  one  may  observe  in  himself  and  others,  that  the 
greater  sensible  good  does  not  always  raise  one's  desire,  in  proportion  to 
the  greatness  it  appears,  and  is  acknowledged  to  have;  though  every 
little  trouble  moves  us,  and  sets  us  on  work  to  get  rid  of  it.  The  reason 
whereof  is  evident  from  the  nature  of  our  happiness  and  misery  itself. 
All  present  pain  whatever  it  may  be,  makes  a  part  of  our  present  misery; 
but  all  absent  good  does  not  at  any  time  make  a  necessary  part  of  our 
present  happiness,  nor  the  absence  of  it  make  a  part  of  our  misery.  If  it 
did,  we  should  be  constantly  and  infinitely  miserable  ;  there  being  infinite 
degrees  of  happiness  which  are  not  in  our  possession.  All  uneasiness, 
therefore,  being  removed,  a  moderate  portion  of  good  serves  at  present 
to  content  man  .  .  .  they  could  be  content  to  stay  here  forever,  though 
they  cannot  deny  but  that  there  may  be  a  state  of  eternal  durable  joys 
after  this  life,  far  surpassing  all  the  good  that  is  to  be  found  here  .  .  . 
yet  they  bound  their  happiness  within  some  little  enjoyment  or  aim  of 
this  life,  and  exclude  the  joys  of  heaven  from  making  any  necessary  part 
of  it :  their  desires  are  not  moved  by  this  greater  apparent  good,  nor  their 
wills  determined  to  any  action  or  endeavor  for  its  attainment." 1 

Locke  concludes  that  we  are  not  induced  to  act  by  a  view 
of  the  greatest  good,  but  that  present  uneasiness  inspires  in 
us  an  inclination  to  free  ourselves  from  it.  Thus,  he  says, 
the  wise  Author  of  our  being  has  subjected  men  to  the  incon- 
veniences of  hunger,  thirst,  and  the  other  natural  desires,  so 
as  to  excite  and  determine  wills  to  the  preservation  of  them- 
selves, and  to  the  continuation  of  their  species.  He  cites,  in 
closing,  the  video  meliora  proboque,  and  concludes  by  saying, 
that  it  is  not  the  greatest  good,  but  the  most  pressing  uneasi- 
ness, which  always  wins  the  day. 

1  Locke,  Essay  Concerning  Human  Understanding,  B.  ii.,  chap.  21,  §  44. 


380  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Leibnitz  admits  that  "  these  considerations  have  weight," 
yet  he  thinks  that  we  should  not  abandon  the  maxim  of  the 
greatest  good. 

"  The  reason  why  true  goods  are  so  little  sought  is  [according  to  him], 
because  in  this  case  most  of  our  thoughts  are  empty,  without  perception 
or  sentiment,  and  consist  in  the  barren  employment  of  characters,  just 
as  in  the  case  of  those  who  make  algebraic  calculations  without  regarding 
the  geometric  figures.  In  this  case  words  have  the  same  effect  that  arith- 
metical or  algebraic  characters  do  in  the  other;  we  often  reason  merely 
verbally,  without  having  the  object  before  our  minds.  Thus  men  gener- 
ally think  about  God,  virtue,  and  felicity :  they  speak  and  reason  without 
distinct  ideas.  .  .  .  Thus  if  we  prefer  the  worse,  it  is  because  we  feel 
the  good  which  it  contains,  while  feeling  neither  the  evil  that  is  present, 
nor  the  good  which  is  contained  in  the  opposite  course." 1 

This  habit  of  repeating  formulas,  the  meaning  of  which 
is  not  present  in  the  imagination,  Leibnitz  calls  psittacism 
(talking  like  a  parrot).  He  is  fond  of  this  expression,  and 
even  applies  it  to  the  belief  of  the  majority  of  men  in  regard 
to  the  future  life. 

"  This  is  partly  [he  says]  because  men  are  not  really  convinced ;  and 
whatever  they  say  a  secret  incredulity  dwells  in  the  depths  of  their 
hearts.  .  .  .  Few  people  like  to  admit  that  a  future  life  is  possible. 
Their  thoughts  about  it  are  merely  psittacism,  or  are  gross  and  empty 
dreams  like  those  of  the  Mahometans.  .  .  .  Cicero  has  somewhere  well 
observed  that,  if  our  senses  could  but  perceive  the  beauty  of  virtue, 
they  would  love  it  ardently.  But  as  neither  this  nor  any  thing  equiva- 
lent to  it  happens,  it  is  no  cause  for  surprise  if  the  spirit  succumbs  so 
frequently  in  the  combat  between  the  flesh  and  the  spirit,  since  it  does 
not  properly  appreciate  its  advantages." 

From  this  analysis,  Leibnitz  concludes  that  Locke's  obser- 
vations, although  just,  in  no  way  contradict  the  maxim  of 
the  greatest  good. 

I  will  say,  of  all  that  I  have  just  quoted,  what  Leibnitz  says 
of  Locke :  "  There  is  something  solid  and  beautiful  in  these 
considerations."  And  just  as  Leibnitz  accepts  the  observa- 
tions of  Locke,  giving  them  his  own  interpretation,  we  may 

1  Leibnitz,  Nouv.  Essais,  B.  ii.,  chap.  21. 


LIBERTY.  381 

also  recognize  the  justice  of  Leibnitz'  observations,  while 
seeking  to  interpret  them  in  conformity  with  our  principles. 

It  is  certain  that  the  will  is  always  persuaded  by  some 
good,  and  cannot  be  so  by  an  evil.  No  one  will  willingly 
consent  to  be  unhappy.  Plato  is  right  in  saying  this.  If  I 
perform  an  action  whose  results  menace  my  happiness,  my 
future  life,  my  eternal  happiness,  it  certainly  is  not  because 
I  expressly  desire  that  misfortune,  however  inevitable  it  may 
seem  to  my  mind.  I  do  not  desire  evil  for  the  sake  of  evil, 
but  I  yield  to  some  present  attraction  which  is  a  good. 

But  while  I  admit  that  the  will  is  never  persuaded  except 
by  some  good,  there  still  remain  the  queries :  1.  Whether  it 
always  seeks  the  greatest  good ;  2.  Whether,  supposing  that 
it  does  this,  it  is  possible  to  affirm,  as  an  equivalent  proposi- 
tion, that  the  strongest  inclination  always  carries  the  day  ; 
3.  Whether,  finally,  if  we  accept  this  last  hypothesis,  liberty 
does  not  still  remain. 

We  see  how  many  distinct  ideas  we  have  here  to  disen- 
tangle. 

The  whole  force  of  the  equivocation  lies  in  the  word  good, 
which  has  several  different  meanings. 

Sometimes  it  signifies  present  good,  the  pleasure  and  the 
immediate  attraction  which  inclines  us  toward  it. 

Sometimes  it  signifies  future  good,  or  interest,  the  sum  of 
the  goods  which  life  has  to  offer  us,  and  which  together 
compose  what  is  called  happiness.  And  although  these 
future  goods  may  actually  be  resolved  into  pleasures,  just  as 
real  as  the  present  ones,  yet  it  is  certain  that  future  pleas- 
ure, represented  by  the  imagination,  is  rarely  so  vivid  as 
that  which  is  actual  and  present. 

Finally,  the  word  good  may  mean  the  universal  general 
good,  the  interest  of  other  men,  or  even  the  interest  of  the 
universal  society  which  unites  us  with  men  and  with  God. 
Here  we  no  longer  have  to  do  with  a  good  belonging  to  the 
sensitive  world,  but  with  one  which  is  not  even  personal. 

Now,  from  these  definitions  it  follows  that  the  maxim  of 


382  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  greatest  good  is  an  equivocal  one.  For  it  may  mean 
either  that  the  will  is  always  determined  by  the  greatest 
actual  good,  or  by  the  greatest  personal  good,  or  by  the 
greatest  general  and  universal  good. 

Now,  experience  shows  that  it  is  not  true  that  men  always 
seek  present  goods  in  preference  to  future  goods,  or  those 
that  are  personal  rather  than  the  universal  good.  And,  con- 
versely, it  is  not  always  true  that  men  prefer  the  greatest 
general  good  to  their  own  personal  good,  nor  the  greatest 
personal  good  to  their  present  and  sensitive  good. 

Thus  the  maxim  does  not  seem  to  be  true  in  the  two 
meanings  which  may  be  attributed  to  it. 

In  defending  it,  two  interpretations  are  given,  which, 
although  different,  are  frequently  united,  and  which  Leib- 
nitz seems  often  to  have  confounded. 

It  may  be  observed  that  these  three  kinds  of  heterogene- 
ous goods  have  yet  something  in  common,  and  we  may 
attempt  to  reduce  them  to  a  sort  of  common  denominator. 
This  something  in  common  is  the  attraction  which  they  have 
for  us,  and  the  idea  of  the  pleasures  which  they  promise  us. 
Now,  it  may  happen  that  a  pleasure,  even  when  nearly  ideal, 
will  be  more  charming  to  us  than  another  actual  and  present 
pleasure ;  and  consequently  its  attraction  will  be  greater. 
Thus,  by  directing  our  imagination  toward  the  future  pleas- 
ure, we  may  weaken  the  power  of  that  which  is  present ;  and 
we  may  do  the  same  as  to  pain.  So,  too,  the  idea  of  the 
good  of  others,  or  of  good  in  general,  may  be  so  vivid  that 
we  shall  find  more  pleasure  in  it  than  in  our  personal  good. 
So  soon,  then,  as  the  attraction  of  such  a  pleasure  becomes 
stronger  than  that  of  the  present  pleasure,  the  will  will 
inevitably  follow  it.  For  example,  pious  and  charitable 
souls  actually  find  more  pleasure  in  prayer  and  self-devotion 
than  in  all  the  pleasures  of  the  senses.  In  a  cold  and  ego- 
tistical man  the  love  of  life  will  be  stronger  than  the  inclina- 
tion to  intemperance.  In  the  first  sense,  the  maxim  of  the 
greatest  good  signifies  that  the  soul  will  always  pursue  the 


LIBERTY.  383 

greatest  good  that  is  felt;  that  is  to  say,  the  prevalent  attrac- 
tion, or  the  strongest  attraction.  Here  the  standard  is  given 
by  the  sensibility.     This  is  what  Leibnitz  means. 

Taken  in  another  sense,  the  maxim  in  question  means  that 
the  will  always  follows  the  greatest  good  known.  Here  the 
maxim  is  borrowed  from  the  intelligence,  and  this  is  what 
Plato  means. 

In  this  latter  sense  the  idea  is  evidently  inadmissible ;  for 
it  is  only  too  true,  that  we  know  the  good  and  do  the  evil. 
Here  we  may  recall,  with  Locke,  the  video  meliora.  ...  If 
the  actual  state  of  our  sensibility  but  renders  actual  good  or 
evil  more  vivid,  this  is  enough  to  lead  us  to  sacrifice  future 
good,  even  when  we  recognize  its  character ;  and  this  is  true 
of  our  own  personal  good,  as  well  as  of  good  in  general. 
For  instance,  if  one  is  put  to  the  torture,  and  knows  that  his 
life  depends  on  the  courage  with  which  he  endures  it,  it 
avails  little  for  him  to  know  that  the  endurance  of  an  actual 
and  transitory  evil  will  suffice  to  preserve  his  life,  which  is 
evidently  the  greater  good.  It  is  very  possible  that  he  will 
not  have  the  courage  to  prefer  this  greater  good,  though 
known  and  certain,  to  the  negative  and  transitory  good  of 
being  delivered  from  the  torture. 

The  question,  then,  assumes  this  form:  Does  the  will 
always  follow  the  greatest  good  of  sensibility  ?  Or  may  it, 
on  the  contrary,  prefer  the  greatest  intellectual  good  to  the 
greatest  good  of  sensibility  ?  Can  we  choose  that  which  is 
the  greatest  good  in  itself,  even  though  it  may  not  be  also 
our  greatest  pleasure?  I  reply  with  Kant:  I  can,  for  I 
ought.  This  is  the  moral  problem  itself.  Either  the  idea 
of  moral  obligation  means  nothing  at  all,  or  it  means  just 
this.  Moreover,  we  must  not  here  lose  sight  of  the  impor- 
tant scholastic  distinction  between  anticipatory  and  conse- 
quent pleasures.  Every  act,  as  we  have  already  said  in 
agreement  with  Aristotle,  is  accompanied  by  pleasure ;  but 
every  act  is  not  necessarily  determined  by  pleasure.  We 
may  picture  to  ourselves  in  the  coldest  and  weakest  manner 


384  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  pleasures  of  cod  science,  and  yet  may  act  from  conviction 
of  the  right. 

But  let  us  proceed  farther:  what  is  the  love  of  the  greatest 
good  ?  And,  speaking  generally,  what  is  love  ?  Does  love 
necessarily  exclude  liberty?  Certainly  not.  Love  is  not 
the  blind  impulse  of  the  sensibility :  it  is  the  pleasure  which 
is  superadded  to  the  idea  of  an  object,  according  to  Spinoza's 
profound  definition.  Love  is,  then,  inseparable  from  knowl- 
edge. Love  is  distinct  from  appetite ;  or,  rather,  it  is  the 
rational  appetite  (appetitus  rationalis),  as  the  scholastics 
called  it.  In  true  love,  the  idea  is  always  mingled  with  the 
pleasure.  He  who  obeys  such  a  love  will,  then,  obey  reason 
at  the  same  time :  it  is  thus  that  he  is  free. 

Imagine,  then,  a  man  who  loves  both  good  and  pleasure,  but 
sacrifices  the  latter  to  the  former.  Must  we  say  that  he  obeys 
the  strongest  of  his  inclinations?  No:  I  say  that  he  obeys 
the  best  of  the  two.  There  is  no  common  measure  for  love 
and  appetite,  and  these  two  inclinations  cannot  be  weighed 
in  the  same  balances :  otherwise  it  would  be  impossible  to 
explain  why  virtue  is  difficult,  or  the  effort  which  it  costs 
to  gain  the  victory  over  the  passions.  Now  these  are  facts 
which  it  is  impossible  to  deny,  and  which  every  one  can 
verify  for  himself  in  the  simplest  way.  It  is  painful,  and 
costs  us  something,  to  deprive  ourselves  of  a  pleasure,  how- 
ever small  it  may  be.  How  would  this  be  possible  if  we 
never  obeyed  any  but  the  strongest  of  our  inclinations? 
When  we  knowingly  prefer  a  greater  to  a  lesser  pleasure,  we 
feel  no  sentiment  of  constraint:  we  do  it  with  pleasure.  How 
does  it  happen,  then,  that  there  are  cases  when  such  a  choice 
is  accompanied  hy  pain?  How  can  it  be  painful  and  griev- 
ous for  me  to  strive  for  my  greatest  pleasure  ?  This  would  be 
incomprehensible.  In  reality,  the  case  is  not  so  simple  as  it  is 
made  to  appear.  Here  there  is  not  the  clashing  of  two  incli- 
nations of  the  same  kind,  with  the  same  standard :  in  such  a 
case  we  should  have  no  difficulty  in  sacrificing  the  lesser  of 
the  two.     But  when   you   sacrifice   a   present   to  a  future 


LIBERTY.  385 

pleasure  —  the  first,  warm,  vivid,  tempting,  and  immediate; 
the  second,  cold,  distant,  perhaps  uncertain  —  unquestionably 
you  have  here  two  pleasures ;  but  they  cannot  be  measured 
by  the  same  scale.  Ask  Bent-ham  himself  if  certainty  will 
bear  comparison  with  intensity.  If  I  prefer  the  most  certain 
pleasure  to  the  one  which  is  most  vivid,  it  is  plainly  because 
reason  adds  its  own  weight  to  the  balance.  It  is  the  same 
when  of  two  pleasures  I  prefer  the  better  to  the  more  vivid ; 
or  refinement,  nobility,  and  dignity,  to  intensity.  Thus  we 
come  back  to  our  fundamental  distinction  between  what  is 
good  in  itself,  and  what  is  good  for  our  sensibility ;  between 
good  in  itself  and  relative  good ;  between  true  pleasures  and 
those  that  are  false.  It  is  because  we  judge  one  pleasure  to 
be  truer  than  another  that  we  choose  it,  but  this  does  not 
necessarily  imply  that  it  is  actually  the  most  vivid  and  the 
most  attractive.  Hence  such  a  choice  is  difficult,  and  the 
effort  which  it  costs  us  is  what  we  call  liberty. 

Above  this  liberty  which  consists  in  effort,  we  have  seen 
that  there  is  another  which  is  superior  to  effort,  which  is  the 
pure  love  of  good,  without  constraint,  and  without  pain. 
But  this  is,  in  a  certain  sense,  the  reward  of  the  other.  It 
is  the  liberty  of  the  wise  man  or  the  saint :  it  can  hardly  be 
said  to  belong  to  our  sphere. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

KANT'S   THEORY  OF  LIBERTY. 

NO  philosopher  has  penetrated  more  deeply  than  Kant 
into  what  a  theologian  of  the  sixteenth  century  called 
the  labyrinth  of  the  free  will.1  None  has  made  greater  efforts 
to  find  his  way  through  it.  Let  us  examine  the  profound 
and  original  theory  of  liberty  which  this  philosopher  has 
given  us. 

In  Kant's  opinion,  liberty  is  the  faculty  of  initiating  a 
series  of  movements :  it  is  the  power  of  producing  a  change 
which  is  not  determined  by  any  anterior  change.  Hence  it 
is  an  initial,  spontaneous  cause — a  first  cause.  Undoubtedly 
liberty  is  not  the  first  cause,  the  Supreme  Being :  it  implies 
secondary  substances.  But  these  secondary  substances,  in 
so  far  as  they  can  be  called  free,  are  first  causes,  like  the 
Supreme  Being;  that  is,  they  are  causes  which  produce  a 
series  of  movements  without  being  determined  to  this  by  any 
thing  anterior.  These  causes  are,  then,  exempt  from  the 
general  law  of  causality,  according  to  which  every  thing 
that  is  produced  is  determined  by  some  antecedent  phe- 
nomenon. Now,  this  law  of  causality  is,  according  to  Kant, 
a  universal  law  of  nature.  Hence  comes  this  antinomy  : 
either  there  is  liberty,  in  which  case  the  law  of  causality, 
which  Leibnitz  called  the  principle  of  sufficient  reason, 
suffers  a  notable  exception,  and  nature  no  longer  forms  a 
unit,  while  science  and  experience  no  longer  hold  a  guiding 
clew ;  or  else  the  law  of  causality  is  universal,  and  without 

1  Ochin,  Labyrinthus  Liberi  Arbitrii.  See  the  analysis  of  this  curious  book 
in  Ad.  Garnier's  TraiU  des  Faculty  de  I'Ame  (i.  v.,  c.  i.,  §  6). 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  LIBERTY.  387 

any  exception,  in  which  case  there  is  no  liberty,  and  conse- 
quently no  morality,  since  morality  is  indissolubly  connected 
with  the  idea  of  liberty. 

It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  liberty  is  in  no  way  opposed 
to  the  principle  of  causality ;  since  every  free  action  certainly 
has  a  cause,  which  is,  the  will  that  produces  it.  A  free  act 
does  not,  then,  come  out  of  nothingness :  it  issues  from  the 
free  causality  which  potentially  contains  it.  Consequently 
the  axiom,  ex  nihilo  nihil,  does  not  apply  here.  But  Leibnitz 
has  observed  that  the  mere  principle  of  causality  is  not  suffi- 
cient, and  that  we  must  add  to  it  the  principle  of  reason. 
In  fact,  in  order  that  an  effect  may  be  produced,  it  is  not 
enough  that  the  power  to  produce  it  should  be  presupposed : 
this  power  must  also  have  some  reason  for  doing  it,  by  which 
it  will  be  aroused  and  led  to  perform  this  action  rather  than 
some  other  one.  For,  if  this  power  is  supposed  to  be  equally 
indifferent  to  two  contrary  actions,  we  may,  indeed,  have 
something  which  explains  the  possibility  of  action  in  general, 
but  we  have  nothing  which  explains  the  choice  of  a  certain 
action  in  particular:  this  requires  the  principle  of  reason. 
A  phenomenon  without  a  reason  is,  then,  a  phenomenon 
without  a  cause.  Now,  whether  we  consider  psychological 
or  physical  phenomena,  we  cannot  in  either  case  comprehend 
an  action  without  a  cause.  A  power  to  decide  without  any 
reason  is  merely  chance :  it  is  the  negation  of  all  science. 
On  the  other  hand,  however,  universal  determinism  is  the 
negation  of  morality.  Thus  the  antinomy  remains,  and  we 
cannot  escape  it  by  means  of  any  of  the  accepted  hypotheses. 
To  get  rid  of  this,  Kant  proffers  an  hypothesis  of  his  own. 

He  finds  the  solution  in  his  theory  of  transcendental  ideal- 
ism. According  to  this,  time,  space,  and  causality  are  not 
the  laws  of  things  in  themselves,  but  they  are  the  laws  of 
our  sensibility  and  of  our  understanding,  in  so  far  as  we 
think  of  external  things.  The  world  as  it  is  in  itself,  or  the 
intelligible  world,  is  essentially  different  from  the  world  as  it 
appears  to  us,  or  the  sensitive  world.     The  latter  is  only  a 


888  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

phenomenon :  in  themselves  things  are  neither  in  space,  nor 
in  time,  nor  subject  to  the  laws  of  necessary  causation.  As- 
suredly we  do  not  know  these  things  as  they  are  in  them- 
selves ;  but  we  have  at  least  this  negative  idea  of  them  which 
excludes  all  the  modes  of  our  sensibility,  with  which  the 
ideas  of  our  understanding  are  united.  In  this  theory  Kant 
sees  the  solution  of  the  problem  of  liberty. 

If  things  taken  in  themselves  were  indeed  such  as  they 
appear  to  us,  he  says,  then  they  could  not  be  freed  from  the 
universal  law  of  nature,  which  is  the  law  of  causation.  If 
man,  such  as  he  knows  himself  by  experience,  were  man  as 
he  is  in  himself ;  if,  to  use  Kant's  phraseology,  the  homo  phe- 
nomenon were  identical  with  the  homo  noumenon  —  it  would 
not  be  possible  to  affirm  the  existence  of  the  free  will ;  for 
man,  as  a  phenomenon,  is  subject  to  the  same  law  which 
governs  all  other  phenomena,  which  is,  the  law  of  sufficient 
reason ;  and  all  his  interior  modifications  are  determined  the 
one  by  the  other,  according  to  the  same  law  as  external 
modifications.  But  so  soon  as  we  distinguish  the  noumenon 
from  the  phenomenon  —  the  thing  in  itself  from  the  thing  as 
manifested  in  time  and  space  —  the  antinomy  disappears. 
There  is  no  longer  any  reason  for  applying  the  laws  of  one 
to  the  other :  it  is  no  contradiction  for  a  thing  which  is  in 
itself  free,  to  appear  to  be  subjected,  in  its  exterior  manifes- 
tations, to  the  purely  subjective  law  of  causation;  conse- 
quently an  action  which  appears  in  its  sensitive  and  exterior 
effects  to  be  determined,  may  be  free  in  its  principle. 

To  understand  this  theory  of  Kant's  perfectly,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  remember  that  he  distinguishes  two  kinds  of  causa- 
tion —  intelligible  and  empirical  causation.  One  of  these  is 
exercised  outside  of  space  and  time :  the  other,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  bound  by  the  conditions  of  space  and  time.  It  is 
only  empirical  causation  which,  for  the  very  reason  that 
it  is  exercised  within  time,  is  subject  to  the  law  of  universal 
determination.  It  is  because  its  effects  are  manifested  within 
the    limits    of   time    that    they   necessarily   determine   one 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  LIBERTY.    ([  U  K"  I  V  38®,  S  I  T  Y 

another,  as  do  the  moments  of  time.  The  law^^o^^Q^^ ^J^ 
reason,  which  Leibnitz  supposed  to  be  a  law  of  tKmgslh"'" 
themselves,  is,  then,  merely  a  law  of  phenomena,  or  empirical 
causation ;  that  is  to  say,  of  things  as  they  appear,  and  not 
of  things  as  they  really  are.  Kant  denies  the  objectivity  of 
empirical,  not  of  intelligible,  causation ;  and  his  ontological 
scepticism  may  be  reduced  to  this  proposition :  The  deter- 
minism of  Leibnitz  is  a  subjective  illusion  of  the  mind,  which 
renders  morality  impossible  by  making  freedom  impossible. 

Kant  certainly  does  not  affirm  (from  the  metaphysical 
point  of  view)  the  objective  reality  of  intelligible  causation, 
but  neither  does  he  deny  it.  There  is  no  complete  knowl- 
edge, save  such  as  comes  from  experience  :  all  knowledge  is 
derived  from  the  union  of  an  d  priori  idea  and  the  intuitions 
of  the  sensitive  faculties ;  without  this  intuition  there  can  be 
no  experience,  and  consequently  no  knowledge.  Now,  intel- 
ligible causation  cannot  be  apprehended  by  the  intuition  of 
the  sensitive  faculties,  consequently  it  cannot  be  a  matter  of 
experience ;  hence  it  cannot  be  known,  but  it  can  be  thought; 
and,  although  we  may  not  be  able  to  affirm  that  it  is  real, 
we  can  at  least  say  that  it  is  possible.  In  a  word,  it  in- 
volves no  contradiction.  If,  then,  we  come  to  see  in  another 
field  that  it  is  necessary,  we  may,  without  fear  of  violating 
the  laws  of  reason,  affirm  that  it  exists.  Now,  morality 
requires  liberty.  Hence  liberty,  which  is  metaphysically 
possible,  is  practically  necessary.  Thus  practical  reason 
establishes,  in  what  is  called  an  apodictic  (demonstrative) 
manner,  what  pure  reason  had  left  as  simply  problematical. 

The  question  still  remains,  how  one  and  the  same  being  — 
that  is,  a  man  —  can  be  at  the  same  time  free  and  a  slave 
—  free  as  an  intelligible  causality,  a  slave  as  an  empirical 
causality;  free  in  the  field  of  noumena,  a  slave  in  that  of 
phenomena.  This  is  the  knot  of  the  problem.  If  the  nou- 
menon  and  phenomenon  were  two  distinct  beings  within 
man  (like  the  soul  and  the  body),  it  would  not  be  difficult  to 
comprehend  that  man  might  be  free  from  one  point  of  view 


390  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

and  a  slave  from  another.  The  only  difficulty  would  be 
how  to  connect  the  two  —  a  difficulty  which  is  found  in 
every  system.  But  here  the  difficulty  is  much  greater,  for 
the  phenomenon  is  simply  the  expression  of  the  noumenon. 
The  man  as  a  phenomenon  is,  then,  identical  with  the  man 
as  a  noumenon :  he  is  the  same  being  regarded  from  another 
stand-point.  If  this  is  so,  how  can  he  be  free  in  one  sense, 
and  a  slave  in  another  ? 

Kant  admits  that  his  solution  is  very  obscure,  but  he  asks 
if  any  clearer  one  can  be  given.  So  far  as  it  can  be  under- 
stood, his  explanation  may  be  summarized  as  follows.  The 
conditions  according  to  which  things  manifest  themselves,  do 
not  alter  the  conditions  according  to  which  these  same  things 
act.  Even  if  we  consider  a  subject  as  manifesting  itself  to  it- 
self the  manner  of  its  appearing  does  not  at  all  affect  the 
manner  of  action  of  the  subject  abstractly  considered.  A 
subject  may  manifest  itself  to  itself  with  the  appearance  of 
fatality,  and  yet  really  act  with  perfect  freedom.  Fatality 
belongs  to  the  mode  of  appearance :  liberty  belongs  to  the 
inmost  essence  of  the  being.  For  instance,  an  action  may 
be  one  in  its  principle  and  essence,  and  be  manifold  in  its 
mode  of  manifestation.  It  will  then  be  both  manifold  and  one 
without  any  contradiction.  Thus  a  cry  may  be  uttered  in  a 
sonorous  vault,  and  repeated  by  all  the  echoes  of  the  vault : 
you  utter  but  one  sound,  you  hear  a  hundred.  Each  of 
these  is  determined  according  to  physical  laws  by  those  pre- 
ceding it,  and  all  taken  together  are  determined  by  the 
laws  of  echo,  or  of  the  reflection  of  sounds.  The  physicist 
can  measure  mathematically  and  with  precision  every  mo- 
ment of  the  phenomenon ;  but  these  measures  apply  only  to 
the  sound  manifested,  not  to  the  sound  produced.  Hence  it 
may  be  regarded  as  being  controlled  by  fate  in  its  manifesta- 
tion, while  it  is  free  in  its  origin.  Thus,  for  example,  if  it  is 
an  appeal  for  help,  a  call  to  arms,  an  insult,  or  a  prayer,  the 
moralist  may  attribute  to  the  sound,  abstractly  considered, 
a  moral  value,  while  the   physicist  will  see  in   the  sound 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  LIBERTY.  391 

as  manifested  only  a  phenomenon  governed  by  mathematical 
laws.  This  is  certainly  but  a  rude  image ;  but  it  will  illus- 
trate to  a  certain  extent  how  one  and  the  same  action  can 
be  controlled  by  fate,  and  yet  be  free. 

To  make  the  explanation  clearer,  let  us  penetrate  more 
deeply  into  the  distinction  between  the  phenomenon  and  the 
noumenon  as  this  applies  to  man.  Let  us  imagine  a  man 
looking  at  himself  in  a  mirror.  The  man  is  the  noumenon : 
his  reflection  in  the  glass  is  the  phenomenon.  Here  the 
cause  is  the  man.  From  a  certain  point  of  view,  and  in 
a  certain  sense,  every  thing  that  is  in  the  man  is  expressed 
in  his  image.  The  mirror  may  modify  in  a  thousand  ways 
this  primitive  figure ;  but,  in  doing  so,  it  must  always  respect 
the  type  which  is  furnished  to  it ;  and,  however  much  the 
image  may  differ  from  the  model,  there  will  not  be  a  single 
point  in  the  image  which  is  not  derived  from  the  model ;  but 
it  is  evident  that  the  laws  which  control  the  reflection  of  the 
image  in  the  mirror  do  not  apply  to  the  man  himself,  and  do 
not  in  any  way  modify  his  nature.  For  instance,  if  my  face 
appears  longer  or  broader  in  a  mirror,  it  does  not  follow  that 
it  will  be  really  long  or  broad.  Imagine,  then,  a  mirror  in 
which  my  actions  could  be  represented  according  to  a  cer- 
tain universal,  determining  law :  it  does  not  follow  that  my 
actions  abstractly  considered  would  be  under  the  control  of 
such  a  law. 

Now,  this  is  what  takes  place.  Man  has  an  internal  mir- 
ror which  we  call  consciousness,  by  which  he  is  shown  to 
himself;  and,  in  so  far  as  he  is  shown  to  himself,  he  is,  as 
Kant  says,  affected  by  himself.  He  can  perceive  himself  only 
in  accordance  with  the  conditions  of  his  own  faculties  of 
sensibility,  a  sort  of  internal  mirror,  which  modifies  his  real 
features :  thus  he  sees  only  the  image  of  himself.  Now,  what 
is  the  fundamental  condition  of  the  faculties  of  sensibility  ? 
It  is  time.  Hence  he  perceives  himself  only  under  the  con- 
dition of  time. 

But  beside,  or  rather  above,  this  consciousness  of  the  sen- 


392  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

sibility,  which  he  calls  the  empirical  consciousness,  there  is 
another  consciousness  which  he  calls  pure,  or  perception  d 
priori.  This  is  the  consciousness  of  myself  as  a  thinking 
being :  it  is  the  consciousness  of  the  understanding  and  of 
its  necessary  conceptions.  Thus  man  is  the  union  of  a 
double  consciousness  — pure  and  empirical.  He  is,  according 
to  Kant's  definition,  "an  understanding  which  appears  to 
itself  under  the  form  of  time."  Understanding  differs  essen- 
tially from  the  faculties  of  sensibility.  The  latter  are  pas- 
sive ;  sensibility  is  simply  the  capacity  for  being  affected ;  it 
is  a  receptivity.  Understanding  is  an  active  faculty,  pro- 
ducing conceptions :  it  is  a  spontaneity.  Man,  so  far  as  he 
preserves  the  consciousness  of  being  an  understanding,  is 
conscious  of  his  spontaneity,  his  activity,  and  his  causality ; 
and,  as  this  is  the  very  thing  that  distinguishes  the  world  of 
the  intelligible  from  that  of  the  sensitive,  Kant  goes  so  far  as 
to  say  that  "we  are  conscious  of  forming  a  part  of  the  intelli- 
gible world."  Finally  —  although  Kant's  system  is  not  gen- 
erally regarded  from  this  point  of  view — it  is  certain,  that 
with  him,  man,  regarded  as  an  understanding,  is  a  thing  in 
himself;  and,  since  he  is  conscious  of  his  understanding,  he 
is  therefore  conscious  of  himself  as  being  a  thing  in  himself. 
Only,  this  understanding  (which  is  the  thing  in  itself)  can- 
not perceive  itself  save  under  the  conditions  of  the  faculties 
of  sensibility  —  that  is,  within  time;  but,  abstractly  consid- 
ered, it  is  not  subject  to  the  law  of  time. 

This  is  the  core  of  Kant's  theory  of  liberty:  from  this 
comes  the  determinism  of  phenomena,  which  is  due  to  the 
law  of  time,  and  to  this  law  alone.  It  is  only  as  being 
within  time  that  a  phenomenon  cannot  occur  without  being 
anteriorly  preceded  by  some  other  phenomenon.  Eliminate 
time,  and  you  eliminate  this  condition.  Intelligible  causal- 
ity does  not  imply  any  thing  anterior  to  itself,  because  for 
it  there  is  no  such  thing  as  anterior.  Hence  it  is  emanci- 
pated from  all  servitude  as  regards  nature ;  being  entirely 
spontaneous,  it  implies  nothing  but  itself;  this  is  what  is 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  LIBERTY.  393 

called  liberty.  Unquestionably  all  phenomena,  in  so  far  as 
they  arise  one  after  the  other,  presuppose  a  law.  Each  one 
in  particular  is  determined  by  the  preceding  one,  and,  from 
this  point  of  view,  is  governed  by  fate.  But  taken  all  to- 
gether, as  a  whole,  they  are  the  expression,  the  manifesta- 
tion of  a  spontaneous  or  free  causality.  All  have  their  origin 
in  the  understanding,  or  reason ;  that  is  to  say,  in  that  part 
of  man  which  constitutes  intelligible  causality.  "Phenom- 
ena," says  Kant,  "express  reason  empirically:  reason  con- 
tains phenomena  intelligibly.'''' 

Thus  we  see  how  phenomena  may  be  at  once  determined, 
and  jet  free.  They  are  determined  so  far  as  they  relate  one 
to  another :  they  are  free,  taken  as  a  whole,  as  the  expres- 
sion of  reason  is  intelligible  causality.  "  Reason,"  says 
Kant,  "is  identically  present  in  all  actions:  it  is  the  com- 
plete cause  of  each  one  of  them." 

Kant's  solution  consists,  then,  in  admitting  the  contempo- 
raneousness of  reason  with  the  whole  series  of  acts  which 
compose  the  phenomenal  life  of  man.  This  series  —  mani- 
fold, successive,  divisible,  because  it  exists  within  time  — 
is  the  expression  of  a  simple  and  single  act  which  exists 
outside  of  time.  This  simple  and  immanent  act,  not  being 
preceded  by  any  thing,  is  spontaneous,  therefore  free.  The 
phenomena  which  proceed  from  it  are,  therefore,  free  also. 

Thus,  in  Kant's  view,  it  is  not  one  special  action  or  an- 
other which  is  free,  but  it  is  the  totality  of  our  actions  taken 
as  a  unit.  Responsibility  belongs  to  the  whole  life,  and  not 
to  single  actions.  Another  German  philosopher,  who  has 
more  fully  developed  this  point  of  Kant's  theory  —  Schopen- 
hauer—  says  that  it  is  not  in  the  fieri  (the  becoming)  that 
man  is  free:  it  is  in  the  esse  (the  being).  Such  as  he  is,  such 
he  becomes :  but  what  he  is,  he  is  freely ;  he  is  so,  because  he 
wishes  it.  A  corrupt  tree  cannot  produce  good  fruit :  a  bad 
man  will  not  produce  good  actions ;  since  he  is  wicked,  every 
thing  in  him  is  vicious ;  but  it  was  he  himself  who  chose  to 
be  wicked. 


394  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Kant  finds  a  confirmation  of  his  theory  in  popular  opin- 
ion ;  for  instance,  in  the  hatred  which  we  all  feel  for 
depraved  natures,  even  when  they  appear  so  from  their 
early  childhood,  and,  so  to  speak,  in  the  very  cradle.  Doubt- 
less each  of  the  acts  by  which  this  precocious  wickedness 
is  manifested  is  fated,  in  the  sense  that  it  is  determined  by 
the  wicked  and  depraved  instincts  of  the  individual.  Never- 
theless, the  moral  consciousness  protests  against  these,  as 
well  as  against  other  guilty  persons.  Every  day,  before  our 
tribunals,  criminals  are  assailed,  being  represented  as  having 
the  worst  of  instincts,  as  being  monsters ;  yet  their  respon- 
sibility is  thought  to  be  aggravated,  not  diminished,  by  this. 
Thus  they  are  truly  culpable,  though  their  wickedness  is 
innate. 

Consequently  Kant  admits  the  existence  of  what  he  calls 
a  sort  of  radical  sin ;  that  is,  each  one  of  us,  before  his  birth, 
or  rather  without  reference  to  his  birth,  chooses,  by  a  sort 
of  absolute  decree,  to  be  either  good  or  evil.  If  we  inquire 
why  the  reason  decides  in  one  way  rather  than  another,  Kant 
replies,  that  it  is  useless  to  seek  the  why.  We  cannot  go 
back  of  a  first  cause :  the  essence  of  things  is  unknown  to 
us.  To  ask  why  the  reason  decides,  is  to  regard  it  as  deter- 
minate, not  determinating.  Here  we  have  a  sort  of  primitive 
fiat  —  a  free  and  voluntary  predestination,  the  mystery  of 
which  cannot  be  solved  by  any  human  science.  This  is  also 
the  starting-point  of  religion. 

The  profundity  and  originality  of  this  system  are  incon- 
testable ;  but  it  may  be  remarked  that  it  eliminates  the  diffi- 
culties of  other  systems  by  substituting  new  ones,  and  that 
it  finally  leaves  the  problem  in  the  same  state  in  which  it- 
was  found. 

The  first  difficulty  is,  that,  in  this  theory,  it  is  impossible 
to  distinguish  acts  that  are  free  from  those  that  are  not  so. 
Kant  admits  that  each  one  of  our  actions,  so  far  as  it  is  con- 
nected with  the  preceding  ones,  with  mutables,  circumstances, 
and   accidents,  which  determine  it,  is  necessary — just  as 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  LIBERTY.  395 

necessary  as  are  physical  phenomena :  but  all,  taken  together, 
are  the  expression  of  what  Kant  calls  "  reason  ; "  that  is, 
of  an  absolute  spontaneity,  or  of  an  incomprehensible  act  of 
liberty.  If  this  is  true,  should  not  all  phenomena,  without 
exception,  be  regarded  as  the  expression  of  this  primitive  act 
of  liberty?  Is  not  the  man  as  a  phenomenon,  taken  as  a 
whole,  no  more  in  one  action  than  in  another,  the  expression 
of  the  will  of  the  man  as  a  noumenon  ?  He  is,  then,  wholly 
free,  and  wholly  a  slave  :  he  is  free  as  to  his  intelligible  origin ; 
he  is  a  slave  as  a  phenomenon  of  the  world  of  sense.  But, 
even  in  the  sensuous  world  itself,  we  cannot  distinguish  that 
which  is  free  from  that  which  is  not  free.  What  principle 
of  distinction  could  be  here  applied  ?  Why  should  not  the 
intelligible  man  —  that  is  to  say,  reason,  which  Kant  declares 
to  be  "identically  present  in  all  phenomena  " — be  the  cause 
of  some  ?  And  whence  do  the  others  come  ?  If  we  admit  that 
certain  phenomena  —  such,  for  instance,  as  acts  performed 
in  a  state  of  delirium  —  are  neither  free  nor  imputable,  be- 
cause they  are  determined  irrevocably  by  the  antecedent 
circumstances,  why  should  other  actions  —  such,  for  instance, 
as  a  lie  or  a  murder,  which  are,  by  the  hypothesis,  determined 
just  as  irrevocably,  in  so  far  as  they  are  phenomena  —  why 
should  these  be  regarded  as  free  in  respect  to  their  noumenal 
origin  ?  Do  not  all  phenomena  have  a  noumenal  origin,  and 
is  not  this  the  same  for  all?  Thus  Kant's  hypothesis  fur- 
nishes us  with  no  criterion  by  which  to  distinguish  which  of 
our  actions  are  free,  and  which  are  not  so.  Now,  it  is  certain 
that  human  consciousness  recognizes  a  difference  between 
them.  It  gives  absolution  for  acts  committed  during  sleep, 
in  a  delirium,  in  madness,  and  in  idiocy,  as  being  irresponsi- 
ble ;  and  even  if  we  should  accept  the  distinction  made  by 
the  Stoics  between  two  classes  of  men,  wise  men  and  fools, 
the  difficulty  would  still  remain,  in  regard  to  the  majority 
of  mankind,  who  pass  frequently  from  one  state  to  another, 
if  only  in  sleep  and  in  illness.  Not  only  does  Kant  decline 
to  explain  this  difficulty,  but  his  system  even  excludes  what 


396  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

is  affirmed  by  the  practical  conscience ;  that  is,  degrees  of 
responsibility.  For  since  he  regards  all  our  acts,  without 
exception,  as  being  absolutely  determined  in  so  far  as  they 
are  mutable,  he  cannot  admit  that  one  is  any  more  so  than 
another ;  and  as  he  has  nothing  at  his  disposal  whereby  to 
save  liberty  except  a  desperate  resort  —  that  is,  an  incom- 
prehensible, absolute  act,  common  to  the  whole  series  of 
phenomena  which  compose  a  human  life  —  I  do  not  see  how 
this  primitive  act  could  be  manifested  in  one  phenomenon  any 
more  than  in  another ;  nor,  consequently,  how  the  responsi- 
bility could  be  greater  or  less  in  any  given  case. 

But  still  another  class  of  difficulties  is  involved  in  this 
hypothesis.  The  law  of  causality,  which  Kant  declares  to 
be  absolute,  demands  that  every  phenomenon,  even  if  psy- 
chological, shall  be  determined  by  an  anterior  phenomenon. 
Each  of  our  actions  is,  therefore,  the  inevitable  result  of 
those  preceding  it ;  and,  as  we  have  just  seen,  if  they  are  to 
be  considered  as  free  in  any  sense,  this  is  only  by  regarding 
them  as  a  whole ;  in  this  sense,  each  individual  one  is  free, 
so  far  as  it  forms  an  integral  part  of  a  whole  which  has  the 
character  of  freedom.  But,  in  passing  thus  from  action  to 
action,  do  we  not  ultimately  reach  a  first  phenomenon,  which 
is  the  initial  of  the  series,  and  the  generator  of  all?  This 
phenomenon  is,  for  each  man,  contemporaneous  with  his 
birth,  with  the  manifestation  of  his  being,  at  whatever  mo- 
ment this  birth  or  apparition  may  be  fixed.  Now,  even  if  I 
admit,  that  as  a  noumenon,  as  understanding,  as  liberty  —  all 
which  are  identical  in  Kant's  view  —  I  am  outside  of  time, 
like  the  God  of  scholastic  theology,  yet  as  a  phenomenon, 
as  a  concrete  and  individual  man,  as  Peter  or  Paul,  my  life 
had  a  beginning  in  time.  Here,  then,  is  an  ultimate  phe- 
nomenon, or  one  which  is  so  relatively  to  me. 

Here  we  encounter  an  alternative,  both  of  whose  terms  are 
equally  inadmissible.  On  the  one  hand,  I  may,  in  accordance 
with  practical  consciousness,  separate  my  individual  responsi- 
bility—  that  is  to  say,  my  liberty — from  that  of  all  who  have 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  LIBERTY.  397 

preceded  me —  my  parents  and  ancestors.  But,  in  this  case, 
I  have  a  primitive  phenomenon  which  is  derived  exclusively 
from  my  own  liberty,  and  is  completely  detached  from  every 
thing  which  precedes  it.  There  is  a  hiatus  between  the  first 
initial  phenomenon  of  my  individual  life  and  all  anterior 
phenomena,  even  those  which  occur  in  the  environment 
within  which  I  took  birth  —  in  the  maternal  womb.  Thus 
there  is  a  rupture  of  the  universal  series,  and  the  law  of 
causality  is  violated  by  the  introduction  of  a  free  cause  into 
the  chain  of  phenomena.  But,  if  such  a  cause  could  break 
this  chain  at  the  beginning  of  my  life,  why  can  it  not  break  it 
as  readily  under  other  circumstances?  Thus  the  principle 
of  universal  determinism  is  overthrown. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  law  of  causality  must  be  main- 
tained without  exception  and  without  reserve,  then  it  must 
be  admitted  that  the  first  phenomenon  of  my  life  is  neces- 
sarily determined  by  the  phenomena  of  a  life  anterior  to  my 
own ;  this  life  itself  is  similarly  connected  with  an  anterior 
life ;  and  the  genealogical  tree  of  each  of  us  must  be  con- 
sidered as  one  and  the  same  life,  continuous  and  indivisible, 
each  phenomenon  of  which  is  necessarily  determined  by  the 
preceding  one.  Thus  it  can  be  called  free  only  as  we  con- 
sider the  entire  series,  from  the  very  first  man  on,  as  emanat- 
ing from  one  and  the  same  cause.  Thus  I  must  go  back  of 
my  own  liberty,  back,  even,  of  the  liberty  of  my  parents,  to 
find  a  cause  that  is  truly  free.  All  liberties  and  all  respon- 
sibilities must  be  absorbed  in  one  single  liberty  and  re- 
sponsibility. 

Hence  one  of  two  things  must  be  true :  either  my  per- 
sonal responsibility  is  merged  in  the  responsibility  of  the 
human  race  in  general ;  or  else,  on  the  contrary,  all  human 
responsibilities  are  merged  in  mine.  In  the  first  case,  what 
is  the  moral  value  of  a  responsibility  which  pertains  to  men 
in  general,  and  not  to  me  in  particular?  What  greater 
objection  can  there  be  to  fatalism  itself?  In  the  second 
case,  I  shall  be  responsible  for  every  thing  that  has  been 


398  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

done  before  my  life  began  :  I  shall  be  personally  responsible 
for  the  murder  of  Caesar,  and  for  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline. 
This  hypothesis  is  even  more  absurd  than  the  former  one, 
and  destroys  just  as  effectually  all  moral  responsibility. 

Furthermore,  humanity  itself  was  not  created  out  of 
nothing  by  an  act  of  spontaneous  will ;  it  was  born  into  a 
pre-existing  world;  it  is  connected  with  the  universe,  and 
forms,  with  this,  a  part  of  one  and  the  same  sensuous  world. 

Here,  again,  the  law  of  causality  demands  that  there  shall 
be  no  hiatus,  no  break  between  the  first  phenomenon  which 
manifests  the  existence  of  the  first  man,  and  all  other  ante- 
rior phenomena.  If  we  consider,  moreover,  that  the  sensu- 
ous world  is  not  a  thing  in  itself,  an  absolute  reality,  but  is 
a  pure  phenomenon  —  that  is  to  say,  a  mere  representation 
of  our  sensitive  faculties,  consequently  a  product  or  pro- 
longation of  our  being  —  and  that  this  is  just  as  true  of  the 
universe  of  the  past  as  of  that  of  the  present,  it  follows 
plainly  that  the  universe  is  only  a  part  of  the  phenomenal 
man.  Hence  arises  a  new  dilemma:  either  my  individual 
responsibility,  already  lost  in  the  responsibility  of  the 
human  race,  is  to  be  lost  again  in  the  still  more  vague  re- 
sponsibility of  the  Author  of  things,  which  is  equivalent  to 
merging  human  liberty  entirely  in  Divine  Providence ;  or 
else,  on  the  contrary,  since  this  universe  is  merely  the 
apparition  of  my  own  liberty,  I  am  responsible  for  every 
thing,  not  merely  for  my  own  faults,  or  even  for  the  faults 
of  my  fathers,  but  also  for  the  moral  and  physical  evil  that 
exists  in  the  universe.  Whatever  point  of  view  we  may 
take,  all  idea  of  responsibility  disappears. 

In  a  word,  in  a  system  in  which  nature  forms  a  continuous 
and  indissoluble  series,  I  do  not  see  where  there  is  any  room 
for  human  liberty.  Unquestionably,  if  we  distinguish  man 
from  nature,  and  if  in  man  we  distinguish  the  soul  from 
the  body,  and  finally  if  in  the  soul  itself  we  distinguish  the 
volitions  from  the  appetites  and  the  passions,  we  may  then 
say  that  a  free  will  exists  within  an  enslaved  world.     But  if 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  LIBERTY.  399 

in  the  sensuous  world  we  include  not  only  nature,  but  also 
man ;  if  in  man  we  include  not  only  the  body,  but  also  the 
soul ;  and  if  in  the  soul  we  include  not  only  the  spontane- 
ous and  involuntary  appetites  and  passions,  but  even  the 
volitions;  in  one  word,  if  we  include  all  psychological  as 
well  as  all  cosmological  phenomena ;  and  if  all  these  psycho- 
logical and  cosmological  phenomena  form  an  indissolubly 
connected  whole  —  then  I  do  not  see  how  distinct,  individual 
wills  can  have  any  definite  and  circumscribed  sphere  of 
action  within  this  vast  homogeneous  mechanism.  Undoubt- 
edly I  can  comprehend  this  world  in  its  entirety  as  the  act 
of  an  absolute  will ;  but  then,  it  is  God  who  is  free,  not  man 
—  unless,  indeed,  we  confound  God  with  man.  But,  in  any 
case,  individual  liberty  will  disappear. 

Would  that  by  this  hypothesis  Kant  could  at  least  elude 
that  famous  dilemma  in  the  theory  of  liberty  which  is  called 
indifferent  liberty  or  determinism.  But  he  does  not  escape 
this  difficulty  any  more  than  do  the  others ;  and,  in  spite  of 
all  his  efforts,  he  is  tossed  from  one  rock  to  another. 

In  fact,  when  he  argues  that  liberty  is  simply  intelligible 
causality ;  that  man  is  an  intelligible  causality,  in  so  far  as 
he  is  endowed  with  understanding  and  reason ;  when  he 
defines  understanding  and  reason  as  "  a  spontaneity  of  con- 
ceptions," which  is  in  his  view  synonymous  with  intelligible 
causality ;  when  he  uses  these  words,  "  Liberty  and  practi- 
cal reason  are  one  and  the  same ; M  when  he  identifies  liberty 
with  the  autonomy  of  the  will,  or  the  legislating  will  —  that 
is  to  say,  with  the  idea  of  duty  —  he  practically  assimilates 
liberty  with  duty ;  and  with  him,  as  with  Spinoza,  liberty 
seems  to  mean  exclusively  the  possession  of  reason.  On  the 
contrary,  when  he  maintains,  in  other  passages,  that  liberty 
is  indispensable  to  morality ;  when  he  shows  that  there  can 
be  no  guilt  nor  chastisement  without  liberty ;  when,  instead 
of  confounding  liberty  and  duty,  he  deduces  one  from  an- 
other, as  in  the  following  words :  "  You  ought,  therefore  you 
can  "  —  words  which  evidently  imply  that  one  who  has  failed 


400  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

to  do  his  duty  might  have  fulfilled  it,  consequently  that  he 
freely  chose  servitude  to  his  passions  —  in  all  these  passages 
Kant  seems  to  use  liberty  in  its  ordinary  sense,  that  is,  as 
being  free  will,  the  power  of  choice ;  and  then  liberty  is  no 
longer  merely  rational  spontaneity,  but  is  a  contingent  and 
untrammelled  power,  capable  of  choosing  between  opposite 
actions.  Thus,  like  most  philosophers,  Kant  oscillates  be- 
tween rational  determinism  and  the  liberty  of  indifference ; 
between  Wolf  and  Crusius. 

The  problem  is  to  find  a  mean  between  those  two  ex- 
tremes, and  this  is  no  slight  task.  I  have  already  endeav- 
ored to  indicate  this  mean.  According  to  my  view,  liberty  is 
not  the  actual  possession  of  reason,  but  it  is  the  faculty  or 
capacity  for  acting  in  accordance  with  reason.  The  former 
is  the  ideal  or  divine  liberty :  the  second  is  human  liberty. 
It  is  useless  to  adopt  metaphysical  hyperbole,  claiming  for 
ourselves  an  absolute  liberty  which  is  unmanageable  by  us, 
while  we  refuse  the  liberty  which  we  need.  Liberty  does 
not  exist  for  us  merely  in  a  transcendent  world  of  which  we 
have  no  consciousness :  it  is  in  the  real  world  that  we  find  it 
necessary ;  and  in  this  world  it  is  simply  the  power  of  eman- 
cipating ourselves  from  the  control  of  our  inclinations,  thanks 
to  the  light  of  reason,  and  by  the  aid  of  feeling. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

VIRTUE. 

I  HAVE  already  said  that  the  object,  or  the  end,  of  moral 
activity  is  good.  The  law  which  connects  this  activity 
with  its  object  is  duty.  The  quality  of  the  moral  agent,  in 
so  far  as  he  accomplishes  good  and  obeys  the  law,  is  virtue. 
We  have  studied  for  some  time  the  various  subjective  con- 
ditions of  the  practice  of  duty :  we  have  now  to  sum  up  all 
these  ideas  in  order  to  obtain  a  definition  of  virtue.  Three 
elements  enter  into  morals  —  knowledge,  liberty,  sentiment. 
We  must  now  determine,  as  clearly  as  it  is  possible  to  do  in 
such  a  matter,  what  part  belongs  to  each. 

The  first  theory  which  presents  itself  is  that  which  makes 
virtue  consist  solely  in  knowledge :  this  is  the  theory  of 
Socrates  and  of  Plato.  According  to  these  two  philosophers, 
the  knowledge  of  good  is  always  followed  by  trie  practice  of 
good.  How  is  it  possible,  indeed,  that  one  should  know 
good,  and  yet  not  prefer  it  ?  How  could  any  one  be  volun- 
tarily wicked  ?  In  Plato's  view,  as  in  mine,  good  is  simply 
the  perfection  of  being;  and  perfection  is  the  principle  of 
happiness.  Now,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  any  one 
would  voluntarily  be  unhappy.  Hence,  if  any  one  renounces 
the  true  good,  it  is  because  he  does  not  recognize  it  as  being 
so :  it  is  because  he  is  ignorant  that  it  is  good,  and  at  the 
same  time  that  it  is  our  good.  Hence  it  follows  that  virtue 
is  wisdom,  and  that  vice  is  merely  ignorance. 

This  theory  is  very  profound,  and  contains  a  great  part  of 
the  truth,  if  not  the  whole  truth.  The  difficulty  lies  in  giving 
it  its  proper  interpretation,  and  reconciling  it  with  the  facts. 

401 


402  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

The  first  incontestable  observation  is,  that  it  is  quite  true, 
that,  in  a  great  many  cases,  vice  is  simply  ignorance.  For 
instance,  there  is  no  doubt,  that,  among  uncivilized  peoples, 
the  greater  part  of  the  vices  which  prevail,  even  the  most 
odious  ones,  are  due  to  the  fact  that  these  peoples  have 
never  learned  to  hold  them  in  detestation.  Thus,  anthro- 
pophagy, so  common  a  practice  among  many  barbarous  tribes, 
is  plainly  unaccompanied  by  any  knowledge  of  the  evil 
inherent  in  this  abominable  custom.  Religious  crimes,  such 
as  human  sacrifices,  are  due  to  the  same  cause.  The  immod- 
esty of  some  nations  which  are  still  in  their  childhood  is 
also,  in  many  cases,  the  result  of  ignorance.  Similar  proofs 
of  this  fact  may  be  found  in  the  dregs  of  all  societ}r,  even 
in  civilized  states.  The  mass  of  criminals  —  I  mean  pro- 
fessional criminals  —  form  a  nation  by  themselves,  which, 
according  to  the  report  of  well-informed  persons,  has  a  very 
low  degree  of  intellectual  culture;  and  while  I  do  not 
desire  to  identify  crime  and  idiocy,  as  some  physicians  have 
attempted  to  do,  it  must  be  said  that  these  miserable  crea- 
tures have  generally  very  weak  minds,  and  very  little  intel- 
ligence, which  partly  explains  their  ill  success  in  the  war 
which  they  w#ge  against  society.  Without  descending  to 
these  regions,  which  are  better  known  to  the  police  than  to 
philosophers,  it  may  be  said,  that,  even  among  right-minded 
people,  there  are  many  vices  which  are  due  to  ignorance. 
For  instance,  the  brutality  and  coarseness  of  men  with  little 
education  are  errors  of  which  they  are  unconscious.  If  they 
had  any  feeling  of  delicacy  and  modesty,  they  would  not  so 
readily  employ  coarse  and  obscene  manners  and  gestures. 
They  are,  indeed,  told  that  these  are  sinful.  But  they  learn 
this  only  from  outside,  and  by  rote :  they  have  not  yet  risen 
to  the  comprehension  of  the  idea  of  a  certain  dignity  and 
nobility  which  would  of  itself  exclude  coarseness  of  manners. 
I  will  add,  that,  in  every  class  of  society,  there  are  certain 
vices  which  by  their  very  nature  suppose  and  imply  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  ignorance  in  the  moral  agent.     For  instance, 


VIRTUE.  403 

gossiping  —  a  puerile  and  secondary  vice,  if  you  will,  but, 
nevertheless,  a  vice  —  is  not  accompanied  by  consciousness. 
No  one  would  wish  to  be  regarded  as  a  gossip ;  for  every 
one  knows  the  ridicule  attached  to  the  idea,  and  no  one 
willingly  exposes  himself  to  ridicule.  The  same  is  true  of 
vanity.  A  vain  man  is,  as  everybody  knows,  an  unendur- 
able creature,  intercourse  with  whom  is  extremely  disagree- 
able. Now,  a  vain  man  desires,  above  all  things,  the  esteem 
of  other  people :  if  he  knew  how  ridiculous  and  disagreeable 
his  vanity  makes  him,  he  would  conceal  it,  if  only  from 
vanity.  If  he  does  not  do  so,  it  is  because  it  shows  itself  in 
spite  of  him  ;  because  he  does  not  know  that  he  is  vain.  It 
is  the  same  with  the  coxcomb,  who  displeases  by  trying  too 
hard  to  please.  It  is  also  often  true  of  the  egotist,  who, 
from  his  very  egotism,  would  hide  his  vice  if  he  knew  that  he 
had  it,  but  who,  on  the  contrary,  displays  it  unconsciously 
and  unblushingly.  It  is  true  of  all  vices  which  exhibit 
themselves,  but  which,  from  their  very  nature,  would  find  it 
for  their  own  interest  to  conceal  themselves  under  the  mask 
of  virtue.  Without  granting  this  much  to  ignorance,  how 
can  one  comprehend  that  profound  saying  of  the  gospel, 
that  one  may  see  a  mote  in  his  brother's  eye,  yet  not  be 
able  to  see  the  beam  that  is  in  his  own  eye.  Finally,  it  is 
largely  upon  this  principle  that  the  forgiveness  of  injuries 
is  based.  "Father,  forgive  them,"  said  Jesus  Christ  when 
dying,  "  for  they  know  not  what  they  do."  Thus  the  cruelty 
of  the  Jews  was  not  really  cruelty,  even  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Son  of  God ;  since  they  did  not  know  that  they  were  sacrifi- 
cing their  Redeemer,  but  believed  that  they  were  merely 
punishing  a  usurper  of  the  divine  majesty. 

Thus  Plato's  maxim  is  partly  true,  so  far  as  vice  is  con- 
cerned. We  shall  see  that  it  is  also  true,  at  least  in  part, 
of  virtue. 

The  maxim  that  "  virtue  is  wisdom  "  may  have  two  mean- 
ings. It  may  mean  that  there  can  be  no  virtue  without 
moral   discernment,  a  consciousness  of  good  and  evil,  and 


404  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  intention  of  acting  according  to  the  right.  It  may  also 
mean,  that,  even  when  there  is  a  conscious  intention  of  right- 
doing,  there  can  be  no  virtue  unless  the  consciousness  is 
enlightened,  nor  if  the  good  which  is  pursued  is  not  the  true 
good. 

In  the  first  of  these  two  cases,  the  Platonic  maxim  ex- 
presses a  truth  which  is  unquestionably  self-evident,  but  is 
commonplace.  But  it  is  more  difficult  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion whether  consciousness  —  that  is  to  say,  a  good  intention 
—  is  by  itself  entitled  to  be  called  virtuous,  and  whether  the 
knowledge  of  good  must  not  be  added  to  the  consciousness 
of,  and  the  will  to  do,  good,  in  order  to  constitute  virtue. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  questions  in  morals. 

Doubtless,  as  we  have  already  seen,  nothing  more  can  be 
required  of  a  moral  agent  than  that  he  should  act  according 
to  his  consciousness ;  for  no  one  can  be  required  to  perform 
the  impossible.  Now,  it  is  impossible  to  have  any  other  idea 
of  good  than  that  which  one  has  at  a  given  moment ;  and 
to  desire  that  one  should  act  in  accordance  with  the  idea  of 
a  true  good  of  which  he  is  unconscious,  would  be  to  desire 
him  to  act  directly  against  his  conscience,  and  to  do  what 
he  believed  to  be  evil.     Thus  far  no  difficulty  arises. 

However,  can  we  go  so  far  as  to  separate  virtue  entirely 
from  the  knowledge  of  the  true  good,  of  good  in  itself? 
Must  we,  like  Kant,  consider  only  the  form,  and  not  the 
matter,  of  the  act?  Can  any  action  whatever,  provided  it 
is  in  our  consciousness  the  free  result  of  our  will  to  act  in 
conformity  with  good,  be  called  a  virtuous  action  ?  Is  the 
thing  in  itself  absolutely  indifferent,  and  does  the  will  alone 
constitute  morality  and  virtue  ?  I  have  previously  criticised 
this  way  of  thinking.  Undoubtedly  nominal  definitions  are 
free.  I  may  agree  to  give  the  name  of  virtue  to  any  act  (no 
matter  what),  provided  it  conforms  to  the  conscience,  even 
if  this  is  erroneous ;  but  would  it  not  be  going  too  far  to  call 
a  highly  criminal  act  —  for  example,  that  of  Ravaillac — vir- 
tuous, on  the  supposition  that  it  was  in  conformity  with  the 


VIRTUE.  405 

V  Aa 

conscience  of  the  moral  agent?  But,  if  I  should  go  so  far 
as  this,  if  I  should  grant  that  this  is  a  sort  of  virtue,  I  must 
still  inquire  if  this  is  true  virtue,  if  it  is  the  whole  of  virtue, 
and  if  the  virtue  which  is  in  conformity  with  true  good  is 
not  of  an  order  superior  to  the  virtue  of  a  fanatic  or  a  mad- 
man ?  For  instance,  if  the  sublime  virtue  of  a  St.  Vincent 
de  Paul  is  not  superior  to  the  criminal  virtue  of  a  Brutus  or 
a  Charlotte  Corday,  or  to  the  extravagant  virtue  of  a  mysti- 
cal monk  of  the  Middle  Ages  ?  Even  on  the  supposition  that 
the  will  to  do  good  is  the  same  in  all  these  different  cases, 
will  any  one  be  willing  to  admit  that  there  is  an  equal  virtue 
in  the  wise  man  and  the  madman  —  in  the  devotion  which 
saves,  and  the  fanaticism  which  kills  ?  At  least  it  would  be 
necessary  to  distinguish  two  kinds  of  virtue  —  one  of  which 
might  be  called  subjective,  and  is  merely  the  agreement  of 
the  will  with  the  actual  state  of  the  conscience :  and  the 
other  would  be  objective  virtue,  or  virtue  in  itself,  which 
would  be  the  agreement  of  the  will  with  a  perfected  con- 
science ;  that  is  to  say,  with  true  good.  Is  it  not  self-evident 
that  the  former  can  be  called  virtue  only  in  so  far  as  it  is 
the  anticipative  expression  of  the  second,  and  as  it  is  a  will 
to  raise  itself  to  the  second  ?  For  though  the  state  of  my 
conscience  presents  to  me  only  a  relative  good,  yet  it  is  my 
will  to  obey  the  absolute  good.  But,  if  it  were  believed  that 
objective  virtue  is  not  in  itself  of  a  higher  order  than  sub- 
jective virtue,  then  no  one  would  endeavor  to  pass  from  the 
one  to  the  other ;  and,  since  all  states  of  conscience  would 
be  regarded  as  equal,  it  would  not  be  possible  to  obtain 
moral  enlightenment.  There  would  be  no  occasion  for  a 
man  to  try  to  become  more  reasonable,  or  better.  It  would 
be  sufficient  for  him  to  preserve  a  good  will  to  do  his  duty. 
But,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  it  was  the  duty  of  a  Christian  to 
kill  as  many  Mussulmans  as  he  possibly  could,  and  the  duty 
of  the  Mussulman  to  kill  all  the  Christians  he  possibly  could. 
This  double  and  reciprocal  duty,  like  the  virtue  of  ancient 
cities,  tended  both  ways  toward  the  destruction  of  mankind. 


406  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

Thus  it  seems  to  be  demonstrated,  that  true,  ideal  virtue 
(r)  tSea  aperr}?)  is  virtue  enlightened  by  wisdom,  as  Plato 
regards  it;  while  the  virtue  of  opinion,  that  which  consists 
merely  in  the  agreement  of  the  will  with  the  actual  state  of 
the  conscience,  is  what  the  same  philosopher  calls  it,  merely 
a  shadow  of  virtue  (Wa  apery?).  Most  certainly,  as  I  have 
already  shown,  nothing  can  prove  to  us  that  we  ever  possess 
any  other  virtue  than  this:  for,  on  the  one  hand,  nothing 
can  prove  to  us  that  our  actual  state  of  conscience  is  in 
conformity  with  that  required  by  the  absolute  conscience ; 
and,  on  the  other,  nothing  can  prove  to  us  that  our  deter- 
mining motive  is  really  even  this  state  of  conscience,  and 
not  some  hidden  and  unperceived  interest.  This  is  why  the 
Stoics  said  that  there  was  never  a  single  truly  wise  man. 
Yet  this  virtue,  such  as  it  is,  may  be  regarded  as  equivalent 
to  absolute  virtue,  on  condition  that  we  bring  it  as  nearly 
as  we  can  to  the  other  by  the  best  light  we  have.  It  is 
therefore  certain  that  a  knowledge  of  the  true  good  is  an 
essential  element  of  virtue. 

From  these  considerations  we  may  rightly  conclude  that 
knowledge  is  one  of  the  essential  elements  of  virtue,  and 
that  ignorance  is  often  one  of  the  causes  of  vice.  But  must 
we  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  virtue  is  nothing  but  knowledge, 
and  that  vice  is  nothing  but  ignorance?  On  this  point 
Aristotle  justly  objected  that  Plato  omitted  one  essential 
element  of  virtue  —  the  will.  Plato's  theory  seems  to  fall 
before  that  celebrated  sentence  in  Ovid ;  Video  meliora  —  a 
sentiment  which  St.  Paul  has  also  expressed  with  his  char- 
acteristic energy;  "For  what  I  would,  that  do  I  not;  but 
what  I  hate,  that  do  I."  Plato  himself  recognizes  this  moral 
fact  in  his  dialogue  Of  Laws ;  but  he  endeavors  to  reconcile 
it  with  his  theory,  saying  that  this  is  the  height  of  ignorance. 
But  is  it  possible  to  give  the  name  of  ignorance  to  that  state 
in  which  the  soul  does  evil,  knowing  that  it  is  evil,  yet,  nev- 
ertheless, willing  it  ? 

Incontestably,  in  a  great  many  cases  men  do  evil  con- 


VIRTUE.  407 

sciously  and  with  a  distinct  knowledge ;  and  it  is  in  this 
that  the  sin,  the  fault,  the  crime,  consists,  properly  speaking. 
An  evil  accompanied  by  ignorance  may  be  a  vice,  but  it  is 
not  a  sin.  The  question  is,  how  such  a  state  can  be  possi- 
ble ;  for  it  is  because  he  did  not  believe  it  to  be  possible  that 
Plato  denied  it,  or,  rather,  attributed  all  evil  to  ignorance. 

Why  did  Plato  consider  voluntary  evil  as  impossible? 
Because  in  his  view,  good  in  general,  the  true  good,  is  insepa- 
rable from  the  happiness  of  the  individual :  in  other  words, 
virtue,  or  justice,  is  identical  with  happiness.  "  What !  "said 
Polus  in  the  Gorgias :  "  will  you  deny  that  the  great  king 
is  happy?"  —  "I  know  nothing  about  it,"  replied  Socrates ; 
"  for  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  state  of  his  soul  as  regards 
truth  and  justice."  Thus  the  happiness  of  man  is  insepara- 
bly connected  with  his  relations  to  truth  and  justice.  When 
the  soul  is  virtuous,  it  is  in  order,  in  equilibrium ;  justice 
is  the  health  of  the  soul ;  vice  is  its  sickness.  Now,  if  the 
wicked  man  knew  that,  how  could  he  be  wicked?  Could 
one  voluntarily  choose  to  be  unhappy  and  sick  ?  Would  it 
be  possible  not  to  choose  health  and  happiness?  One  is 
conquered  by  one's  passions,  it  is  said ;  but  the  passions  are 
part  of  ourselves ;  how,  then,  can  it  be  conceived  that  one 
should  be  conquered,  constrained  by  one's  self,  to  do  that 
which  hurts  and  injures  himself? 

What  Plato  calls  impossible  is,  nevertheless,  proved  true 
every  day  by  experience.  Every  day  we  do  what  is  injuri- 
ous to  ourselves,  even  in  a  material  way.  A  certain  food  is 
injurious  to  our  health;  we  have  found  it  so  a  hundred 
times ;  but  yet  it  pleases  us,  and  we  allow  ourselves  to  be 
tempted  to  enjoy  it  once  more.  The  intemperate  man 
knows  that  he  is  shortening  his  life ;  he  is  sure  of  it ;  daily 
his  experience  proves  it,  as  he  feels  his  faculties  grow 
weaker ;  yet  he  yields  to  the  vice  which  entices  him,  and  he 
will  yield  to  it  until  he  dies.  This  is  still  more  likely  to  be 
the  case  when  the  evil  in  question  is  a  moral  one,  which  does 
not  come  so  near  to  us,  and  is  more  coldly  perceived  by  our 
imagination  and  our  senses. 


408  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

The  theoretical  difficulty  here  is,  to  comprehend  how  one 
can  prefer  a  lesser  good  to  a  greater ;  for  it  seems  to  be  a 
self-evident  maxim,  that  the  will  will  always  follow  the 
greatest  good.  I  have  already  spoken  of  this  matter.  It 
will  now  be  necessary  to  refer  to  it  again. 

We  must  distinguish  two  kinds  of  greatest  good  —  the 
greatest  good  as  conceived,  and  the  greatest  good  as  felt.  We 
may,  by  our  intelligence,  know  and  comprehend  that  a  cer- 
tain good  is  the  greatest  good ;  but  this  greatest  good  may 
have  no  charm  for  us.  Another  one,  however,  one  which 
we  know  to  be  inferior  to  the  former,  has  a  greater  attrac- 
tion. Hence  arises  the  conflict,  of  which  we  are  so  often 
conscious,  between  pleasure  and  good.  Pleasure  is  not 
always  the  greatest  good;  but  it  is  the  most  alluring,  the 
most  keenly  felt,  the  most  seductive.  Moreover,  the  great- 
est pleasure  is  not  always  that  which  suits  us  best.  Absent 
pleasure  has  not  the  charm  of  present  pleasure:  future 
pleasure  has  not  the  charm  of  that  which  is  present.  Some 
goods  affect  only  the  intelligence,  not  the  sensibility.  For 
instance,  the  duration  of  life  is  a  good  which  a  young  man 
is  as  well  able  to  comprehend  as  is  a  mature  man ;  but  this 
good  is  vague  and  distant  in  his  eyes ;  it  does  not  appeal  to 
his  sensibility  or  to  his  imagination. 

It  is  still  more  natural  that  moral  goods,  the  goods  of  the 
soul,  although  these  are  recognized  by  reason  as  the  true  and 
sole  goods,  should  be  less  agreeable,  less  seductive  to  the 
sensibility,  than  the  goods  of  the  body.  Man,  who,  like  the 
other  animals,  is  through  a  part  of  his  nature  involved  in 
the  world  of  matter,  is  enchained  in  tender  and  fatal  bonds 
by  goods  of  this  kind.  True  goods,  on  the  contrary,  are  at 
such  an  elevation  that  they  appear  vague  and  cold :  besides, 
being  of  a  purely  spiritual  nature,  it  is  plain  that  they  will 
bave  less  influence  upon  our  imagination  and  our  sensibility. 

Hence  arises  the  moral  conflict,  which,  even  according  to 
Plato,  goes  on  in  the  depths  of  the  human  s*oul  —  the  con- 
flict between  "  the  blind  love  of  pleasure  and  the  reflecting 


VIRTUE.  409 

love  of  good : "  this  conflict  is  involved  in  the  nature  of 
things.  It  is  not  ignorance  which  leads  us  astray :  it  is  the 
charm,  the  seduction,  of  the  senses. 

Hence  there  is  no  self-contradiction  in  saying  that  man  is 
conquered  by  himself:  he  is  not  so  conquered  if  looked  at 
from  one  single  point  of  view.  It  is  the  moral,  ideal,  true, 
and  spiritual  man,  who  is  conquered  by  the  man  of  the  senses, 
—  the  carnal  man.  The  conflict  is  the  one  so  well  described 
by  St.  Paul  as  that  between  the  old  man  and  the  new. 

Hence  comes  an  element  of  virtue  which  Plato  seems  to 
have  overlooked,  and  which  was  very  justly  restored  by 
Aristotle  and  the  Stoics.  This  is  moral  force  —  the  will. 
In  order  that  the  new  and  true  man  may  triumph  over  the 
old  man,  an  effort  of  the  will  is  needed.  For  although  vir- 
tue is  in  reality  true  happiness,  and  brings  with  it  the  sole 
true  pleasure,  this  never  comes  until  it  has  triumphed ;  and 
only  after  it  has  conquered  can  its  charm  and  beauty  be  felt. 
It  is  after  virtue  has  struggled,  after  it  has  fought,  and  won 
the  victory,  that  it  brings  peace  and  joy :  until  then  it  appears 
difficult  and  painful.  Hence,  I  may  know  where  the  true 
good  is  to  be  found,  I  may  know  at  the  same  time  that  this 
true  good  is  also  my  good,  that  this  good  is  my  happiness, 
that  this  happiness  is  the  purest  and  most  profound  of  pleas- 
ures ;  and  yet,  so  long  as  I  only  know  this  without  feeling  it, 
an  effort  of  my  will  is  requisite  if  I  am  to  choose  the  greatest 
good.  As  this  effort  is  a  difficult  one  to  make,  I  may  often 
yield  to  the  attractions  of  the  greatest  present  pleasure ;  and 
this  is  what  is  properly  called  vice,  or  sin.  Virtue  will,  then, 
be,  on  the  contrary,  the  moral  force  which  triumphs  over 
pleasure,  and  pursues  the  sole  and  true  good. 

Now  we  come  to  the  great  problem — to  what  I  shall  call 
the  problem  of  problems  in  morals.  It  is  the  point  debated 
between  the  theologians  and  the  philosophers,  between  St. 
Augustine  and  Pelagius,  between  Luther  and  Erasmus,  be- 
tween the  Molinists  and  the  Jansenists.  To  make  virtue 
possible  it  is  not  enough,  as  Plato  thought,  that  one  should 


410  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

have  a  knowledge  of  good.  But  is  it  sufficient  to  add  to  this 
knowledge  a  will  for  good?  Man  knows  and  desires  the 
good.  Can  he  perform  it  ?  Not  good  will  only  is  needed, 
but  also  strength.  Undoubtedly  it  is  correct  to  say  that 
virtue  consists  in  the  moral  force — in  the  control  of  the 
soul  by  itself.  But  is  not  this  moral  force  composed  of  two 
elements  —  will  and  love  ?  If  I  merely  have  a  speculative 
knowledge  as  to  where  good  is,  will  my  will  have  the  power 
to  conquer  my  passions,  and  to  emancipate  me  from  the 
strong  and  tenacious  bonds  of  the  senses?  No  one  has 
depicted  the  force  of  ruling  passion  more  vividly  than  St. 
Augustine : 

"  I  was  [he  tells  us]  like  those  who  wish  to  awake,  but  who,  over- 
powered by  drowsiness,  again  fall  asleep.  Certainly  no  one  would  wish 
to  be  always  asleep,  or  would  not,  if  he  were  of  sound  mind,  prefer  wak- 
ing to  sleeping ;  yet  nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  resist  the  languor 
which  weighs  down  our  frames ;  and  often,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  we  are 
enthralled  by  the  charms  of  slumber,  although  the  hour  for  waking  has 
come.  ...  I  was  held  back  by  frivolous  pleasures  and  empty  vanities, 
my  old  companions,  who,  as  it  were,  pulled  at  my  vestment  of  flesh,  and 
murmured,  'Will  you,  then,  forsake  us?  '  .  .  .  While,  on  the  one  hand,  I 
was  attracted  and  convinced,  on  the  other  I  was  led  away  and  enthralled. 
.  .  .  I  could  give  no  answer  but  these  slow  and  languid  words;  Very 
soon,  very  soon,  wait  a  little.  But  this  waiting  had  no  end:  this  'very 
soon '  was  prolonged  indefinitely.  Unhappy  man  that  I  am  1  Who  shall 
deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death  ?  " 1 

Though  we  may  not,  with  St.  Augustine,  draw  the  infer- 
ence that  supernatural  aid  is  necessary,  we  may  still  recog- 
nize with  him  the  weakness  of  human  nature  in  a  conflict 
with  voluptuousness,  or  any  other  passion.  The  religious 
directors  of  Christian  consciences  know  by  experience  how 
difficult  it  is  for  a  soul  to  cast  off  the  yoke  of  the  passions ; 
how  much  help  and  tact,  how  much  time,  this  needs ;  how 
many  struggles  there  must  be,  and  how  often  they  will  be 
made  in  vain  !     From  another  point  of  view,  we  know  that 

1  Confessions,  Book  viii. 


VIRTUE.  411 

all  great  deeds,  like  all  great  thoughts,  come  from  the  heart. 
Without  strong  and  vivid  emotions,  without  enthusiasm, 
without  passionate  and  ardent  faith,  who  would  have  the 
strength,  or  the  will,  to  rise  above  common  life  ? 

Hence  it  would  be  a  great  exaggeration  of  the  strength 
of  the  free  will  if  we  were  to  imagine  it  to  be  an  absolutely 
sovereign  power,  for  which  to  will  and  to  do  are  the  same. 
Unquestionably  there  is  truth  in  the  common  saying;  "Where 
there's  a  will,  there's  a  way."  But  if  we  analyze  the  word 
"  will,"  as  used  here,  we  find  that  it  means,  not  merely  the 
force  of  the  will,  but  the  force  of  the  entire  man,  head  and 
heart.  What  is  called  a  strong  will  is  always  more  or  less  a 
will  combined  with  passion.  Hence  sensibility  is  half  of  the 
will.  Mysticism  regards  as  a  supernatural  gift,  as  an  inspira- 
tion of  the  divine  grace,  this  hidden  and  mysterious  power, 
which,  combined  with  the  will,  gives  us  the  energy  necessary 
for  doing  right.  But  it  is  not  necessary  to  have  recourse  to 
this  hypothesis.  Any  great  sentiment,  carried  to  a  certain 
height  of  fervor,  gives  man  an  heroic  force.  Decius  in  Rome, 
Thraseas  under  the  Empire,  Madame  Roland  and  Charlotte 
Corday  during  the  French  Revolution,  have  shown  us  great 
souls  under  the  influence  of  purely  human  passions.  The 
truth  is,  that,  without  a  certain  excitement  of  soul,  moral 
liberty  does  not  seem  able  to  rise  by  itself  to  heroism  ;  and, 
as  to  simple  virtue,  we  know  that  it  is  almost  as  difficult  as 
heroism  —  if  it  is  not  even  more  so. 

From  this  point  of  view,  we  may  form  a  new  definition  of 
virtue.  Virtue  will  not  be  the  knowledge  of  good,  as  Plato 
defines  it ;  it  will  be  the  love  of  good,  or  the  love  of  order, 
as  Malebranche  expresses  it:  and  we  must  also  note,  that 
love,  as  we  have  already  seen,1  is  not  merely  a  condition  and 
stimulant  of  virtue,  but  that  it  is  one  of  its  essential  elements, 
no  less  than  knowledge  or  than  moral  force. 

It  is,  therefore,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  love,  as  well  as  knowl- 
edge, is  an  essential  part  of  virtue.     However,  it  cannot  be 

1  See,  in  the  same  part,  chap,  v.,  The  Moral  Sentiment. 


412  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

limited  to  these  two  elements ;  for  moral  force,  or  will,  must 
also  be  added.  How  often  does  it  happen  that  the  love  of 
good  is  as  powerless  as  the  knowledge  of  good ;  that  a  soul 
which  knows  good,  and  desires  it,  does  not  perform  it !  How 
many  generous  and  tender  souls,  how  many  wise  and  enlight- 
ened ones,  how  many  which  unite  both  wisdom  and  gener- 
osity, are  yet  powerless  before  temptation  !  How  many  of 
those  good  intentions,  with  which  hell  is  paved,  are  inspired 
by  the  heart  and  the  reason,  but  are  betrayed  by  the  will ! 
There  must,  then,  always  be  an  ultimate  authority,  a  su- 
preme effort,  an  act  of  personal  resolution,  by  which  the 
virtuous  act  is  completed.  As  I  have  already  said,  this  ulti- 
mate authority,  which  moves  without  being  moved,  is  what 
is  called  liberty.  What  is  it?  Of  what  does  it  consist? 
What  is  its  essence  ?  No  answer  can  be  given.  It  is  the 
most  profoundly  personal  thing  that  exists  within  us  ;  or,  if 
it  comes  from  elsewhere,  it  is  the  connecting  link  wherein  the 
divine  is  transformed  into  an  individual  personality,  in  which 
the  incomprehensible  passage  from  the  universal  to  the  indi- 
vidual is  made,  in  which  grace  and  free  will  are  united  in 
an  indissoluble  act.  Undoubtedly  the  will  is  from  myself : 
who  could  will  if  not  myself?  But  the  force  of  the  will 
does  not  come  from  me,  for  I  did  not  create  myself:  I  did 
not  even  give  myself  my  will.  Had  I  done  so,  I  should  have 
made  it  absolute ;  and  I  know  only  too  well  that  it  is  not  so. 
I  should  have  made  it  all-powerful  against  evil,  utterly  sub- 
missive to  good ;  but  I  know  only  too  well  that  it  is  power- 
less against  evil,  even  while  hating  it,  and  rebellious  against 
good,  while  loving  it. 

To  sum  up ;  virtue  is  force,  knowledge,  and  love,  indivisibly 
united  in  one  and  the  same  action.  It  is  the  power  to  prac- 
tise good  with  love  and  intelligence.  If,  in  the  idea  of  will, 
we  include  reason  and  inclination,  as  did  the  early  philosophy, 
then  we  may  say,  with  Kant,  thr.t  virtue  is  the  good  will. 

After  these  explanations  of  the  nature  of  virtue,  we  will 
briefly  review  some  of  the  opinions  on  the  questions  raised 


VIRTUE.  413 

by  the  ancients.  For  instance,  no  long  consideration  is 
required  to  show  us  what  element  of  truth  there  is  in 
Aristotle's  statement  that  virtue  is  a  habit,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  that  we  must  be  careful  not  to  misinterpret  this  defini- 
tion. Aristotle  is  perfectly  right  in  saying  that  a  single 
virtuous  act  does  not  constitute  virtue,  any  more  than  one 
swallow  makes  the  summer.  Thus  it  is  by  the  repetition  of 
virtuous  acts  that  one  becomes  virtuous,  just  as  one  becomes 
a  smith  by  repeated  forging.  This  consideration  is  a  suffi- 
cient answer  to  the  tendency  to  make  virtue  consist  in  a  sin- 
gle striking  and  unique  act,  while  it  should  be  conceived  as 
a  continuous  and  steady  will.  It  should  not  be  an  acci- 
dent ;  but  it  should  transform  the  entire  soul,  forming  within 
it  new  and  lasting  qualities.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
should  not  understand  habit  to  mean  a  mechanical  routine, 
in  which  the  soul  itself,  by  subjecting  itself  to  an  exterior 
rule  of  discipline,  would  lose  consciousness  of  what  it  Avas 
doing.  We  must  not  forget  the  maxim  :  "  The  letter  killeth, 
but  the  spirit  maketh  alive."  It  is  by  the  spirit  that  we 
must  be  virtuous,  not  merely  by  actions.  Thus  it  is  not  an 
exterior  habit  which  is  meant,  but  an  internal  and  moral 
habit,  which  is  seated  in  the  will  and  in  the  heart. 

As  to  that  other  maxim  of  Aristotle's,  that  virtue  consists 
in  a  happy  medium,  this  is  undoubtedly  a  practical  rule 
which  it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind,  and  which  is  very  nearly 
satisfactory  in  many  cases;  but  it  is  no  true  definition  of 
the  nature  of  virtue.1 

Let  us  hastily  consider  these  two  questions  suggested  by 
Plato  and  the  Stoics :  first,  whether  virtue  can  be  taught :  and 
second,  whether  virtue  is  one  or  many  —  that  is,  whether 
he  who  has  one  virtue  has  all.  As  to  the  first  question,  it 
is  clear,  that,  if  knowledge  is  an  essential  part  of  virtue,  it 
can  and  should  be  taught.  Thus  morals  may  be  the  object 
of  instruction  and  of  a  science :  even  moral  force,  which  is, 

i  In  reference  to  these  different  questions  and  some  others  also,  see  my 
JSl&nents  dc  Morale  (Paris,  1869),  chap.  vii. 


414  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

as  we  have  seen,  the  ruling  element  of  virtue,  may  be  an 
object  of  instruction,  either  by  example  or  by  exercise.  As 
to  the  second  question,  it  may  be  said,  that,  in  its  pure  and 
abstract  ideal,  virtue  is  one,  and  there  cannot  be  many.  He 
who  truly  loves  good,  will  love  it  everywhere  and  always. 
For  by  the  very  fact  that  one  has  certain  virtues,  and  does 
not  have  others,  one  seems  to  show  that  one  does  not  love 
good  in  general,  but  only  certain  goods.  Thus  one  who  is  a 
good  patriot,  but  a  bad  father,  proves  thereby  that  he  loves 
his  country,  but  not  virtue  itself:  he  loves  only  a  certain 
good,  not  all  good.  Thus  it  would  be  correct  to  say  with 
the  Stoics,  that  there  has  never  been  a  single  truly  wise 
man  among  men ;  and  with  Kant,  that  perhaps  not  a  sin- 
gle virtuous  act  has  ever  been  performed  in  the  world. 
But,  if  we  were  to  define  words  thus  strictly,  there  would 
be  no  morals  at  all ;  for,  if  not  a  single  virtuous  act  has  ever 
been  performed  in  the  world,  there  would  be  reason  to 
believe  that  this  is  because  such  an  act  is  impossible;  in 
which  case,  why  should  I  lake  the  trouble  to  wish  for  what 
is  impossible  ?  If  human  virtues  are  only  apparent  virtues, 
equivalent  to  vices,  why  should  I  seek  to  correct  my  vices  ? 
Thus  we  see  that  this  Platonic  opinion  really  leads  back  to 
the  paradox  of  the  Stoics,  that  all  faults  are  equal  —  a  para- 
dox which  is  practically  equivalent  to  the  negation  of  all 
morals.  We  know,  however,  that  the  Stoics  descended, 
when  necessary,  from  these  paradoxes,  which  were  true  in 
part,  though  purely  in  a  speculative  sense.  Thus,  after  say- 
ing that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  wise  man,  they  admit- 
ted the  possibility  of  progress  toward  wisdom,  and  thence 
formed  a  standard  which  fixes  the  position  of  each  one  rela- 
tively to  this  wisdom.  Thus,  by  their  hypothesis,  one  might 
continue  always  to  approach  wisdom  though  never  attain- 
ing it.  Translate  wisdom  into  perfection,  and  all  is  clear. 
Virtue  being,  according  to  Plato  and  Zeno,  the  imitation  of 
God,  it  is  evident,  that,  in  its  pure  idea,  virtue  is  impossi- 
ble ;  for  no  one  can  be  absolutely  like  God.     But  we  may 


VIRTUE.  415 

approach  this  likeness,  and  this  is  the  only  possible  ideal  of 
human  virtue.  Thus  we  can  comprehend  how  there  may  be 
many  virtues :  one  approaches  perfection  in  a  certain  order 
of  acts,  another  in  other  orders.  These  divisions  are  arbi- 
trary, and  correspond  either  to  the  faculties  or  to  the 
objects:  hence  arises  the  division  of  virtues.  But,  it  will 
be  said,  how  can  one  love  good,  and  yet  not  love  it  every- 
where and  always  ?  Does  not  partial  virtue  prove  that  one 
does  not  love  good  itself,  but  only  one  or  another  good? 
That  is  true ;  but  it  is  also  true  that  the  love  of  a  special 
good  leads  gradually  to  the  love  of  good  in  general ;  he  who 
has  one  virtue,  tends  to  have  all.  True  virtue,  then,  is  that 
which  does  not  give  itself  credits;  which  does  not  permit 
itself  some  vices  to  repay  itself  for  having  certain  virtues. 
It  may  sometimes  falter,  but  never  by  making  a  choice 
between  two  duties,  voluntarily  sacrificing  that  which  it 
finds  disagreeable,  and  contenting  itself  with  those  which 
please  it.  In  this  sense  we  may  say,  with  Plato,  that  he  who 
has  one  virtue  has  all.  But  they  are  of  unequal  difficulty 
for  us,  by  reason  of  the  unequal  distribution  of  inclinations 
and  temptations. 

This  would  be  the  proper  place  in  which  to  say  something 
as  to  the  division  of  virtues.  But  this  question  belongs 
especially  to  practical  morals.  I  will  merely  remark,  that,  to 
my  mind,  any  classification  of  virtues  would  always  seem 
artificial,  and  that  it  would  always  vary  according  to  the 
stand-point  from  which  they  might  be  regarded. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MORAL  PROGRESS. 

SINCE  liberty,  as  well  as  moral  consciousness,  is  an  es- 
sential condition  of  morality,  a  very  difficult  question, 
which  has  as  yet  received  little  attention,  presents  itself  to 
us.  Is  there,  can  there  be,  progress  in  morality?  Moral 
progress,  such  as  I  have  already  defined,  will  readily  be 
admitted:  it  will  be  granted  that  ideas  grow  clearer,  that 
manners  become  ameliorated,  that  institutions  are  perfected, 
that  laws  become  better  and  more  equitable.  In  a  word, 
the  progress  of  civilization  will  be  admitted.  But  it  will  be 
inquired,  whether  there  is  such  a  thing  as  progress  in  mo- 
rality, in  the  strict  sense  of  this  word ;  whether  there  is,  or 
can  be,  progress  in  virtue.  We  are  happier  and  more  refined 
than  our  fathers :  are  we  more  virtuous  than  they  ?  It  will 
be  justly  observed,  that  virtue  consists  essentially  in  the 
moral  force  by  which  one  triumphs  over  his  passions,  in 
obedience  to  what  conscience  declares  to  be  right.  Now, 
can  it  be  said  that  this  moral  force  grows  and  is  developed 
together  with  civilization  ?  Has  there  not  been  at  every  age 
an  equal  amount  of  virtue?  Or,  if  the  amount  of  virtue 
varies,  does  it  necessarily  conform  to  a  law  of  progress? 
Virtue  is  eminently  individual ;  it  consists  entirely  in  the 
free  effort  of  the  will ;  now,  this  effort  may  have  been  the 
same  in  every  age.  Unquestionably,  some  centuries  were 
more  enlightened  than  others:  but  virtue  does  not  consist 
in  the  greater  or  less  amount  of  enlightenment ;  it  consists  in 
strict  obedience  to  the  degree  of  light,  or  to  the  conscience, 
which  one  possesses.     A  savage  who  obeys  his  conscience, 

416 


MORAL  PROGRESS.  417 

however  ignorant  that  may  be,  may  be  as  virtuous  as  a  Soc- 
rates or  an  Aristides.  Some  may  even  go  so  far  as  to  affirm 
that  social  progress  weakens  individual  morality  instead  of 
strengthening  it ;  since  society,  in  proportion  as  it  becomes 
better  regulated,  releases  individuals  from  the  performance 
of  a  great  many  virtuous  acts.  Thus,  well-organized  public 
charity,  or  improved  social  economy,  releases  men  from  the 
performance  of  many  generous  acts  which  formerly  would 
have  been  obligatory.  These  are  the  specious  arguments  by 
which  a  distinguished  philosopher  has  endeavored  to  prove 
that  there  can  be  no  progress  in  virtue.1 

This  thesis  contains  much  that  is  true ;  but  truth  should 
not  be  exaggerated,  under  penalty  of  reaching  inadmissible 
conclusions.  The  author  makes  virtue  consist  exclusively 
in  an  act  of  free  will,  which  act  is  always  essentially  the 
same,  and  is  not  in  itself  susceptible  of  progress.  But  to  do 
this  is  to  take  a  purely  abstract  point  of  view,  which  is  not 
that  of  reality.  Morality  consists,  not  merely  in  an  act  of 
the  free  will,  but  in  a  compound  relation  of  knowledge  and 
of  will.  If  the  free  will  is  the  source  of  morality,  moral  con- 
sciousness, or  the  discernment  of  good  and  evil,  is  its  condi- 
tion. Every  one  admits,  that,  in  order  to  be  entitled  to  be 
regarded  as  a  moral  agent,  one  should  be  conscious  of  one's 
actions,  and  should  discern  their  moral  value.  A  child  does 
not  become  a  moral  agent  until  he  reaches  the  age  at  which 
reason  is  developed,  and  he  is  one  precisely  in  proportion  to 
that  reason.  We  do  not  say  of  a  child  that  he  is  virtuous, 
but  that  he  is  innocent.  In  proportion  as  he  becomes  en- 
lightened, as  he  learns  to  understand  vices,  to  discuss  the 
dangers  of  the  passions,  the  horrible  consequences  of  yield- 
ing to  them,  and  the  dignity  of  life,  he  becomes  more  capable 
of  virtue.  Thus  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  virtue  is  suscepti- 
ble of  progress  in  the  individual.  Why  should  it  not  be  the 
same  in  humanity  ?     Savage  and  primitive  races  obey  their 

1  See  the  Me'moire  by  M.  Fr.  Bouillier,  read  before  the  Academy  of  Moral 
Science,  Sur  la  Querelle  des  Anciens  et  des  Modernes  en  Morale. 


418  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

instincts  only,  like  children.  Sometimes  these  instincts  are 
barbarous,  sometimes  generous ;  but,  whatever  they  may  be, 
they  rule  with  an  imperious  and  absolute  sway.  This  is  not 
because  such  persons  are  destitute  of  free  will ;  but  they  ex- 
ercise this  in  a  very  narrow  sphere,  as  children  do.  It  cer- 
tainly cannot  be  denied  that  they  have  a  sort  of  morality, 
for  otherwise  they  would  not  be  men.  But  this  morality  is 
plainly  inferior  to  a  more  enlightened  state  of  conscience, 
else  we  should  be  forced  to  say  that  man  does  not  rise  in  the 
moral  scale  when  he  passes  from  the  innocence  of  childhood 
to  the  virtue  of  maturity.  It  is  man's  true  destiny  to  attain 
the  perfect  development  of  his  conscience;  it  is  only  at  a 
mature  age  that  he  can  be  fully  conscious  of  all  his  rights 
and  all  his  duties ;  it  is  then  that  he  becomes  fully  a  moral 
person,  and  that  he  attains  complete  personality.  As  Aris- 
totle has  so  well  said,  no  one  would  wish  to  remain  a  child 
all  his  life.  At  a  mature  age,  in  proportion  as  the  discern- 
ment of  good  and  evil  becomes  clearer  and  more  perfect  (if 
it  is  not  corrupted),  responsibility  increases  with  temptations 
and  difficulties.  Affairs  become  more  numerous,  relations 
more  complicated,  duties  more  strict :  hence  there  is  a  greater 
need  of  moral  force,  and  of  attention  to  one's  self.  The 
same  thing  is  true  of  humanity.  The  development  of  intel- 
ligence and  of  civilization,  far  from  decreasing  and  annulling 
individual  responsibility,  gives  it  a  much  wider  field  than 
belonged  to  it  among  primitive  peoples ;  and,  in  order  that 
a  state  of  society  in  a  certain  degree  of  civilization  may  be 
permanent,  a  much  greater  amount  of  moral  force  is  neces- 
sary than  in  the  rudimentary  stage.  In  cultivated  society, 
how  many  men  are  continually  restrained  by  moral  con- 
sciousness, or  are  at  least  engrossed  by  it !  Let  each  of  us 
consult  his  own  recollections,  and,  without  any  exaggeration 
of  his  moral  value,  he  will  see,  that,  on  a  thousand  occasions, 
he  is  engaged  in  consulting  his  conscience.  Even  when  he 
yields  to  temptation,  the  very  consideration  of  the  problem 
shows  in  itself  a  higher  stage  of  morals.     Is  all  this  true  of 


MORAL  PROGRESS.  419 

primitive  peoples,  of  savages  ?  Is  it  not  clear,  that  most  of 
the  time  they  are  the  mere  playthings  of  their  instincts,  and 
that  they  are,  to  a  great  extent,  ignorant  of  the  scruples 
and  the  moral  troubles  of  cultivated  consciences  ? 

I  compare  here  only  the  savage  and  the  civilized  state, 
because  it  is  only  by  considering  these  two  extremes  that 
we  can  get  a  clear  view  of  moral  progress ;  while,  as  between 
two  nations  or  two  centuries  of  comparatively  equal  civiliza- 
tion, we  should  have  no  exact  standard  by  which  to  deter- 
mine whether  there  was,  or  was  not,  any  moral  progress. 
Thus,  for  instance,  it  is  not  easy  for  us  to  decide  whether 
morality  makes  any  progress  from  one  century  to  the  next ; 
and,  if  we  treat  the  question  historically,  there  will  always 
be  an  opportunity  for  controversy,  and  for  decisions  which 
are  contradictory  in  one  way  or  another.  But,  if  we  draw 
inferences  from  the  preceding  principles,  we  can  maintain 
with  probability,  that  every  thing  which  tends  to  enlighten 
the  consciences  of  men,  or  to  increase  the  number  of  those 
who  are  enlightened,  tends  to  augment  human  morality  in 
general.  But  there  is,  in  reality,  one  element  which  should 
not  be  overlooked :  this  is,  that  intelligence,  which  is  a  prin- 
ciple of  moral  growth,  may  also  be  a  principle  of  corruption  ; 
for  men  are  as  frequently  preserved  from  vice  by  ignorance 
and  habit,  as  by  reason.  Thus  it  is  generally  observed, 
that,  while  optimists  see  only  the  good  side  of  the  develop- 
ment of  intelligence,  pessimists  show  what  are  its  evils. 
This  undoubtedly  makes  the  question  a  very  complex  one ; 
and  it  is  therefore  not  easy  to  estimate  the  exact  sum  of 
the  morality  and  virtue  which  any  society  possesses.  It  is 
none  the  less  true  that  there  may  be  a  moral  progress,  and 
that  the  principal  element  of  this  progress  is  the  develop- 
ment of  moral  ideas. 

What  I  have  already  observed  of  primitive  peoples  in 
comparison  with  those  that  are  civilized,  may  also  be  said, 
in  one  and  the  same  society,  of  the  less  enlightened  classes, 
in  comparison  with  those  which  are  more  intelligent.     Here, 


420  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

too,  the  state  of  ignorance  and  misery  is  not  far  removed 
from  that  of  the  savage  :  here,  too,  it  is  by  developing  the 
moral  consciousness  that  we  can  develop  morality.  Here, 
too,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  development  of  intelli- 
gence gives  rise  to  new  virtues  and  to  new  vices ;  and  it 
may  be  asked,  whether  the  evil  does  not  counterbalance  the 
good.  But,  after  all,  this  problem  is  simply  that  of  evil  in 
general;  for  it  is  a  question  whether  the  power  of  doing 
evil,  the  result  of  the  free  will,  is  not  a  melancholy  compen- 
sation for  the  power  of  doing  right.  If  we  admit,  as  is  gen- 
erally done  in  theodicy,  that  Providence,  in  giving  us  the 
power  to  choose  between  good  and  evil,  has  given  us  a  con- 
dition more  elevated  than  that  of  the  brutes,  for  whom  there 
is  neither  good  nor  evil,  it  seems  necessary  to  admit,  for  the 
same  reason,  that  man,  by  cultivating  his  mind,  really  attains 
a  higher  degree  of  morality,  although  the  indirect  result  of 
this  development  of  intelligence  may  be,  in  another  sense, 
a  real  degeneration.  The  average  morality  of  a  given  soci- 
ety may  be  higher,  although  it  may  have  more  vices ;  just 
as  average  humanity  is  superior  to  the  brutes,  although 
some  monster  of  vice  and  cruelty  may  be  inferior  to  the 
vilest  and  most  cruel  of  animals. 

Let  us  consider  the  question  uuder  another  aspect.  Ac- 
cording to  the  theory  which  we  are  combating,  virtue  is 
merely  a  constraint,  a  conflict  with  the  inclinations.  Hence 
it  follows,  that  society,  by  diminishing  the  necessity  for  this 
constraint,  by  rendering  it  useless  by  means  of  a  good  educa- 
tion, good  habits,  good  laws,  and  healthy  ideas,  will  just  so 
far  diminish,  instead  of  increasing,  it.  Virtue  would  have 
no  value,  except  in  proportion  to  its  difficulty:  make  it 
natural  and  easy,  and  you  would  destroy  it.  This  is  directly 
contrary  to  the  general  feeling,  and,  I  will  venture  to  say, 
to  enlightened  practice.  It  is  morality  as  seen  from  a  scho- 
lastic, not  a  truly  human,  point  of  view.  Certainly  inno- 
cence is  not  virtue ;  and  I  have  already  observed,  that  a 
purely  instinctive  virtue  is  merely  the  virtue  of  a  child,  not 


MORAL  PROGRESS.  421 

that  of  a  man.  But  all  philosophers  and  all  great  theolo- 
gians have  always  recognized  that  there  is  a  stage  of  virtue  at 
which,  rising  above  all  conflict  and  all  constraint,  by  becom- 
ing easy  and  delightful,  it  grows  into  a  sort  of  second  nature. 
Undoubtedly  we  do  not  find  here  below  the  ideal  of  such 
a  condition :  we  look  to  heaven  for  the  angelic  state,  and  for 
that  of  holiness ;  but,  even  by  doing  this,  we  admit  that 
that  state,  in  which  there  is  no  more  conflict,  and  where 
virtue  is  the  spontaneous  result  of  the  knowledge  and  love 
of  good,  is  superior  to  the  state  of  conflict  to  which  we  are 
condemned  in  this  lower  world.  Now,  without  comparing 
human  morality  with  this  transcendent  and  supernatural 
state,  we  may  say  that  we  approach  this  when  we  have 
passed  from  the  stage  in  which  virtue  is  difficult,  to  that  in 
which  it  is  easy  and  perfectly  natural,  whether  this  state  is 
due  to  our  own  efforts,  or  whether  it  is  the  result  of  edu- 
cation. 

Let  us  consider  for  a  moment  the  strange  results  of  the 
contrary  hypothesis.  If  virtue  is  exclusively  a  conflict  and 
a  constraint,  this  conflict  is  possible  only  on  condition  that 
there  are  rebellious  inclinations :  to  be  perfectly  virtuous,  it 
would,  then,  be  indispensable  that  one  should  have  some  evil 
inclinations ;  for  otherwise,  how  could  there  be  any  conflict  ? 
Moral  education  should,  then,  make  it  an  object  to  favor  and 
encourage  evil  inclinations,  so  that  there  might  be  something 
by  which  to  exercise  one's  virtue.  The  father  who  should 
perceive  that  his  son  was  naturally  modest,  ought,  then,  to 
sigh  because  he  did  not  discover  in  him  the  passion  of  pride, 
for  he  would  have  no  occasion  to  conquer  it :  he  ought  to 
sigh  if  his  sons  were  industrious,  chaste,  docile,  charitable ; 
for  if  they  never  felt  the  passions  of  indolence,  licentious- 
ness, and  selfishness,  what  virtue  could  there  be  in  their  cul- 
tivation of  their  finer  natural  qualities  ?  Thus,  according  to 
this  hypothesis,  we  ought  to  encourage  vices,  and  raise  obsta- 
cles to  virtue. 

Is  education  directed  to  this  end?    And  can  we  imagine 


422  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

it  as  struggling  against  good  inclinations,  and  stimulating 
evil  ones,  so  that  there  might  afterwards  be  some  occasion 
for  the  exertion  of  virtue  ?  Assuredly,  ignorance  of  evil  is 
not  virtue ;  and  it  may  sometimes  be  well  for  youth  to  be 
brought  face  to  face  with  some  temptations,  that  it  may 
gradually  become  accustomed  to  conquer  them.  I  am  not, 
however,  speaking  of  a  state  of  ignorance,  but  of  that  en- 
lightened state  in  which  we  love  good  with  the  full  knowl- 
edge of  evil,  without  feeling  any  temptation,  and  therefore 
without  any  conflict.  I  say  that  this  is  not  an  inferior  stage 
of  morality,  but  that  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  the  highest  ideal 
of  morality  which  we  can  form.  To  reach  a  point  where  one 
would  love  virtue  so  entirely  as  not  to  be  able  to  choose  any 
thing  else,  this  is  the  true  object  for  the  moral  ambition  of 
humanity.  Now,  just  in  proportion  as  good  habits  become 
general  among  mankind,  and,  as  it  were,  essential,  one  is  justi- 
fied in  saying  that  humanity  has  made  a  moral  gain.  For  in- 
stance, no  one  would  regard  temperance  as  a  virtue  in  sav- 
ages if  it  were  due  to  their  ignorance  of  strong  drink :  it  may 
be,  if  you  will,  innocence,  but  it  is  not  virtue.  The  same 
is  true  of  the  chastity  of  the  child,  so  long  as  he  is  abso- 
lutely ignorant  of  the  passions  of  the  senses.  But  when 
among  any  .people,  at  least  in  the  enlightened  classes,  the 
sentiment  of  personal  dignity  has  become  so  general  that 
being  drunk  is  almost  universally  considered  disgraceful, 
and  that  this  vice  has  become  very  rare  —  then,  either  words 
have  no  meaning,  or  it  is  correct  to  say  that  there  has  been 
an  evident  moral  progress.  Undoubtedly,  thanks  to  educa- 
tion, to  the  progress  of  a  certain  refinement,  to  some  unex- 
plainable  second  nature,  temperance  has  become  very  easy 
for  me ;  I  have  never  even  had  any  trouble  in  preserving  it ; 
from  my  early  youth,  contempt  for  this  silly  passion  has 
been  developed  within  me ;  I  have  a  horror  of  it,  as  I  should 
have  of  becoming  a  brute.  Now,  this  is  precisely  the  end 
which  morals  should  have  in  view.  To  desire  positively 
that  good  should  be  difficult,  is  to  desire  the  eternal  duration 


MORAL  PROGRESS.  423 

of  evil ;  I  can  have  no  merit  in  being  temperate  unless  I  am 
tempted  to  be  otherwise ;  and  thus,  according  to  this  singu- 
lar theory,  vice  would  be  the  necessary  condition  of  virtue. 
It  is  not  merely  the  yielding  to  temptation  which  constitutes 
the  vice;  it  is  the  temptation  itself;  and  it  is  this  tempta- 
tion which  we  seek  to  eradicate  from  our  children  as  early  as 
possible.  Who  could  desire  that  his  son  should  be  tempted 
to  theft,  even  if  he  did  not  steal  ?  What  would  we  think  of 
a  man  who  should  boast  that  he  had  been  tempted  to  kill  his 
mother,  and  had  resisted  the  temptation?  One  might  ad- 
mire his  virtue,  but  one  would  hold  him  in  horror,  all  the 
same ;  and  no  one  would  desire  such  virtue  as  this  for  him- 
self or  for  any  of  his  family. 

It  is,  then,  impossible  not  to  regard  as  moral  progress,  not 
merely  a  resistance  to  vices,  but  even  the  suppression  of  them. 
For  instance,  the  habits  of  intemperance  which  formerly 
prevailed  in  the  upper  classes,  and  which  have  now  become 
very  rare  among  them,  exist  to-day  in  the  working-classes  to 
a  most  unhappy  extent.  Suppose,  that  by  instruction,  by 
reason,  and  by  example,  the  same  sentiment  of  dignity 
which  is  now  felt  by  the  higher  classes  should  be  diffused 
among  the  lower,  so  that,  in  the  coming  generations,  drunk- 
enness should  be  the  exception,  and  temperance  should 
become  the  rule,  how,  without  violating  all  the  laws  of  lan- 
guage and  of  good  sense,  could  one  refuse  to  recognize  this 
change  as  a  moral  progress?  Yet  the  vice  could  not  be 
eradicated  without  destroying  the  temptation  to  the  vice, 
and  therefore  putting  an  end  to  the  effort  which  combats  it. 
Perhaps  the  existence  of  this  unhappy  passion  to-day,  results 
in  producing  in  some  individuals  miracles  of  virtue.  But 
these  miracles  are  purchased  by  a  contagious  vice  which  in- 
fects innumerable  offenders.  Again  I  ask,  must  we  preserve, 
and  even  encourage,  the  vice,  in  order  to  call  out  some  vir- 
tue? Good  sense  revolts  at  such  a  conclusion;  and  every 
man  of  feeling,  who  loves  his  fellow-creatures,  seems  to 
think  that  it  is  impossible  to  pay  too  high  a  price  for  the 


424  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

suppression  of  a  vice  in  humanity.  At  the  risk  of  not  pos- 
sessing the  moral  merit  for  which  Alcibiades  praises  Socrates 
in  Plato's  Banquet,  modern  sages  may  well  congratulate  them- 
selves that  they  do  not  experience  the  strange  temptations 
with  which  the  sages  of  Greece  were  forced  to  struggle. 

It  is  apparently  a  paradox,  yet  it  is  true,  that  the  moral 
value  of  an  act  is  not  always  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
merit  which  belongs  to  it;  and  duty  often  requires  that 
we  should  sacrifice  some  virtue.  I  will  give  a  convincing 
example  of  this.  According  to  the  old  ideas  of  charity,  the 
greatest  benefit  that  one  could  bestow  on  a  fellow-creature 
was  a  gift,  or  an  alms.  According  to  more  enlightened 
views,  one  should  bestow  alms  only  as  a  last  resort :  work, 
loans,  every  thing  which  tends  to  excite  personal  responsi- 
bility, should  be  preferred  whenever  it  is  possible.  Yet 
there  is  more  virtue  in  giving  than  in  lending  —  in  giving 
alms  than  in  providing  work.  Suppose  that  a  man  desires 
to  insure  the  happiness  of  a  hundred  families.  He  knows, 
that,  by  giving  them  half  of  his  property,  he  can  support 
them  for  a  year ;  but  he  also  knows,  that,  by  establishing  a 
manufactory  with  the  same  capital,  he  will  provide  for  their 
support  during  an  indefinite  period.  By  the  first  means  he 
makes  only  paupers:  by  the  second  he  makes  industrious 
men.  What  will  morality  require  in  such  a  case?  Evi- 
dently, that  he  shall  prefer  the  second  course  to  the  first. 
Yet  in  the  second  case  he  may  double  his  fortune,  while  in 
the  first  he  would  sacrifice  it. 

Thus  an  act  may  be  better  in  itself,  even  morally,  without 
requiring  so  great  an  amount  of  virtue — that  is,  of  self-sacri- 
fice—  as  another  act  which  is  morally  of  less  value.  It  may 
even  happen,  as  in  the  case  mentioned,  that  the  act  which 
serves  our  own  interest  is  actually  better  than  the  disinter- 
ested act.  Hence  we  see  that  we  cannot  always  estimate 
the  moral  value  of  any  given  society  by  the  individual  sacri- 
fice of  inclinations  which  each  one  is  obliged  to  make.  The 
moral  value  of  acts  is  not  always  in  proportion  to  the  diffi- 


MORAL  PROGRESS.  425 

culties  overcome.  Hence  the  moral  plane  of  one  given 
society  may  be  higher  than  that  of  another,  although  there 
are  in  it  less  severe  conflicts  with  self,  and  fewer  disinter- 
ested sacrifices. 

Moralists  have  generally  concerned  themselves  only  with 
those  cases  in  which  duty  clashes  with  inclination,  as  it 
frequently  does;  but,  with  an  undue  fear  of  falling  into 
Epicureanism,  they  have  not  spoken  with  proper  freedom 
of  the  no  less  frequent  cases  in  which  duty  accords  with  the 
inclinations.  By  teaching  us  that  there  is  no  morality  nor 
virtue  save  in  conflict  with  ourselves,  they  have  succeeded 
in  making  us  remorseful  because  we  do  not  find  it  necessary 
thus  to  struggle.  Yet  it  is  not  our  fault  if  our  inclinations 
or  our  circumstances  are  in  exact  accordance  with  the  com- 
mands of  virtue.  For  instance,  it  is  a  plain  duty  that  we 
should  zealously  fulfil  our  proper  duties  in  society,  even 
though  these  are  repellent  and  painfnl  to  us.  Very  well ; 
but  if  these  duties  should,  on  the  contrary,  please  us,  and 
make  us  happy,  ought  we  to  reject  them,  and  to  assume 
others,  more  painful  and  disagreeable,  which  we  should  per- 
form badly?  I  have  chosen  the  occupation  of  teaching;  I 
love  the  work ;  if  I  were  to  begin  over  again,  I  would  choose 
the  same.  'Hence  comes  remorse.  What  merit  is  there  in 
performing  zealously  duties  which  I  love  ?  What  virtue  is 
there  in  doing  that  which  makes  me  happy  ?  Yet,  ought  I 
to  reject  these  duties  because  they  are  agreeable  to  me,  and 
choose  others  that  are  repellent  or  difficult,  under  which  I 
should  break  down?  Ought  I  to  become  a  doctor,  at  the 
risk  of  killing  all  my  patients,  solely  for  the  sake  of  per- 
forming penance,  and  giving  myself  the  proud  satisfaction 
of  saying  that  I  am  acting  for  the  sake  of  virtue,  and  not  for 
pleasure?  In  the  tragedy  of  Pelyeuctus,  Pauline  tells  us 
that  she  gives  to  her  husband  from  the  sense  of  duty,  what 
Severus  received  from  inclination.  It  may  be :  the  circum- 
stances explain  the  case.  But  should  one,  then,  from  princi- 
ple, marry  in  opposition  to  one's  inclinations,  solely  to  have 


426  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  honor  of  doing  one's  duty?  If  one  loves  her  husband 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  is  not  that  a  little  like  loving  him  for 
the  love  of  God  —  that  is  to  say,  very  little  indeed  ?  And 
who  would  wish  to  receive  this  affection  from  a  sense  of 
duty,  instead  of  an  affection  from  the  heart,  and  from  in- 
clination ? 

For  the  same  reason,  happiness,  an  object  so  universally 
desired,  comes  to  be  the  occasion  of  remorse  and  scruples. 
I  have  received  from  my  parents  a  fine  fortune:  is  it  my 
fault  that  I  was  born  rich  ?  I  have  received  from  nature  a 
good  constitution:  is  it  my  fault  if  I  am  well?  I  have 
a  faithful  and  charming  wife :  is  it  my  fault  if  I  am  happy 
in  my  home  ?  My  business  is  prosperous,  my  friends  respect 
me,  society  honors  me :  is  it  my  fault  if  I  succeed  in  every 
thing  that  I  undertake  ?  Was  not  Bentham  right  in  regard- 
ing as  moral  asceticism  a  theory  which  would  lead  one  to 
lament  his  happiness,  just  as  people  generally  lament  the 
opposite  ?  And  would  not  Providence,  accustomed  to  hear 
very  different  complaints,  have  a  right  to  say,  as  Jupiter  did 
in  the  fable,  that  man  does  not  know  what  he  wants,  and 
that  he  knows  neither  how  to  be  happy  nor  how  to  be 
unhappy?  The  truth  must  be  told:  this  morality  which 
sees  virtue  only  in  an  eternal  conflict  with  one's  self,  is  a 
morality  of  the  college  and  the  cloister,  "a  phantom  to 
frighten  people  with." 

Let  us  look  around  us  in  actual  life.  We  see  that  the 
most  virtuous  men  do  not  refuse  to  be  happy  when  they  can 
be  so  without  injuring  any  one :  they  congratulate  them- 
selves, and  we  congratulate  them,  when  they  succeed  in  any 
thing.  It  would  be  necessary  to  do  just  the  opposite  if  it 
were  true,  that,  in  gaining  happiness,  one  necessarily  lost 
virtue  proportionately. 

Doubtless,  morality  teaches  us  that  we  must  make  our 
inclinations  bend  to  duty  whenever  they  conflict  with  it, 
but  it  does  not  forbid  us  to  bring  our  inclinations  into 
harmony  with  virtue.     What  is  education,  if  not  this  very 


MORAL  PROGRESS.  427 

discipline  ?  Have  not  all  great  moralists,  all  those  who  have 
best  understood  the  human  heart,  taught  us  to  avoid  temp- 
tation, to  shun  bad  company  and  evil  examples,  to  read  good 
books,  to  attach  ourselves  to  worthy  friends,  to  train  our- 
selves to  noble  passions,  or  even  to  indulge  in  innocent  rec- 
reations ?  In  a  word,  as  Bossuet  says,  they  have  taught  us 
"never  to  combat  passion  directly,  but  to  attack  it  indi- 
rectly." Now,  what  is  meant  by  all  this  advice,  if  not  that 
man  should  seek  for  auxiliary  aids  to  good  in  his  own  heart ; 
that  he  ought  not  to  regard  morality  as  being  an  uncertain 
and  dangerous  combat,  but  as  consisting  in  good  habits,  early 
acquired,  and  thoroughly  strengthened  before  the  hour  of 
conflict  ?  In  other  words,  man  should  bring  his  inclinations 
into  harmony  with  his  duties.  Now,  what  is  done  by  a 
society  which  is  improving  ?  Precisely  this  thing :  it  gradu- 
ally accustoms  all  its  members  to  find  their  happiness  in  the 
practice  of  good;  it  gives  the  majority  a  taste  for  virtue; 
it  makes  them  disgusted  with  crimes  and  vices,  and  leads 
them  to  love  morality  to  such  a  degree  that  it  becomes 
natural  to  them.  Any  other  definition  of  moral  progress 
is  a  purely  scholastic  one,  which  can  have  no  application  to 
the  life  of  the  real  world.  For  instance,  men  nowadays  have 
a  great  horror  of  bloodshed,  and  respect  for  human  life  has 
passed  into  a  habit ;  while,  among  the  Romans  and  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  the  smallest  inducement  would  lead  to  murder, 
and  men  were  killed  for  pleasure  and  as  a  pastime.  This 
respect  for  human  life,  which  in  us  has  no  moral  merit,  since 
we  draw  it  in  with  our  mother's  milk,  so  to  speak,  is,  never- 
theless, a  moral  acquisition ;  a  society  which  has  this  senti- 
ment is  superior  to  one  in  which  it  does  not  exist ;  and  each 
one  of  us,  so  far  as  he  shares  in  the  common  feeling,  is  better 
than  his  fathers.  The  same  is  true  of  the  sentiment  of 
patriotism,  which  is  stronger  and  more  refined  to-day  than 
formerly.  In  the  seventeenth  century  a  prince  of  the  blood 
royal  could  go  over  to  the  enemy  without  incurring  dis- 
honor: to-day,  the  bare  suspicion  of  such  defection  would 


428  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

leave  a  stain.  The  progress  of  patriotism  is  evidently  moral 
progress.  Among  the  Romans,  the  love  of  country  was  a 
virtue  which  was  the  birthright  of  every  citizen,  and  was  im- 
bibed with  his  mother's  milk !     Was  it  any  the  less  a  virtue  ? 

Hence,  to  estimate  the  moral  jprogress  of  an  individual  or 
of  society,  we  should  consider,  not  merely  the  struggle  with 
evil,  but  also  the  good  which  has  been  acquired.  Virtue, 
by  which  I  mean  the  moral  conflict,  is  only  a  means,  not  an 
end.  The  end  is,  to  become  better ;  that  is  to  say,  to  acquire 
qualities  which  render  human  nature  beautiful  and  lovely. 
When  these  qualities  are  acquired,  and  have  become  natural, 
does  this  make  them  cease  to  be  good  and  estimable  ?  When 
women  are  naturally  chaste,  should  they  not  be  respected, 
although  they  have  never  felt  any  temptation  to  sin,  or,  as 
La  Rochefoucauld  cynically  observed,  "because  they  are 
not  weary  of  their  occupation  "  ?  Are  men  who  are  natu- 
rally just,  less  worthy  of  admiration  because  they  have  never 
desired  to  appropriate  the  property  of  another?  And,  to 
pass  from  the  creature  to  the  Creator,  is  God  any  less  good 
because  he  is  essentially  good  itself;  that  is  to  say,  because 
he  possesses  from  all  eternity,  and  in  perfection,  that  which 
we  can  acquire  only  laboriously  and  by  degrees  ? 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  believe  that  the  doctrine  of 
moral  progress  imperils  human  responsibility,  and  tends  to 
reduce  virtue  to  a  mere  acquired  habit,  I  will  simply  remark, 
that,  while  civilization  suppresses  certain  temptations,  it  un- 
fortunately creates  new  ones;  in  perfecting  human  nature 
it  calls  out  fresh  scruples,  and  presents  new  problems;  in 
multiplying  relations  and  affairs,  it  suggests  new  occasions 
for  evil,  and  calls  for  new  conflicts  in  behalf  of  the  right ;  and 
that  thus  that  which  is  acquired  may  possibly  serve  to  en- 
large the  field  of  that  which  remains  to  be  acquired.  Thus  a 
large  part  of  the  responsibility  and  honor  will  always  be  left 
to  the  free  will,  whatever  may  be  the  progress  of  institutions, 
of  intelligence,  and  of  manners.  It  is  none  the  less  true, 
that  the  perfecting  of  human  nature  is  a  moral  progress, 
and  that  this  is  even  the  end  and  final  aim  of  all  progress. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SIN. 

TF  virtue  is  moral  strength,  then  vice  should  be  moral 
-*-  weakness :  it  is  the  predominance  of  passion,  or  of  the 
sensitive  appetites,  over  reason,  and  over  the  idea  of  good 
and  of  duty.  But  just  as  virtue  is  such,  only  in  so  far  as  it 
is  voluntary,  so  vice  is  vice,  or  sin,  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  also 
voluntary.  If  wisdom,  or  moral  perfection,  is  a  state  of  lib- 
erty, and  if  vice,  or  perversity,  is  a  state  of  slavery,  it  may 
be  said  that  virtue  consists  in  being  voluntarily  free,  and  vice 
in  being  voluntarily  a  slave. 

All  the  difficulties  are  clustered  about  this  point ;  that  is, 
the  liberty  of  sin.     We  must  venture  to  face  them. 

The  strongest  argument  in  favor  of  free  will  is  the  sense 
we  have  of  our  responsibility  for  our  own  faults,  and  of  the 
power  which  we  possess  to  commit,  or  to  refrain  from,  them. 
In  whatever  way  liberty  may  be  defined,  it  is  always  true, 
that,  among  our  actions,  there  are  some  which  we  impute  to 
ourselves  as  being  within  our  own  control :  others,  on  the  con- 
tra rjr,  we  no  more  impute  to  ourselves  than  we  do  the  actions 
of  other  men.  This  distinction  is  irrefragable  and  ineffacea- 
ble, however  metaphysicians  may  dispute.  Now,  I  give  the 
name  of  liberty  to  this  power,  whose  essence  is  unknown  to 
me,  and  which  consists  in  performing  actions  which  I  impute 
to  myself,  and  for  which  I  regard  myself  as  responsible. 

But,  if  I  feel  that  I  am  free  and  responsible  in  committing 
my  own  faults,  then  I  have  a  right  to  attribute  to  other  men, 
by  analogy,  the  same  liberty  and  responsibility ;  and  I  have 
the  better  right,  since  they  themselves,  on  a  thousand  occa- 

429 


430  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

sions,  testify  by  their  words  and  their  actions  that  they  im- 
pute their  acts  to  themselves  in  the  same  way  that  I  impute 
mine  to  myself.  Hence  comes  the  doctrine  of  the  liberty 
of  sin,  without  which  it  might  be  said  that  morality  cannot 
exist. 

Yet  while  it  is  true,  that,  from  this  point  of  view,  the 
doctrine  of  free  will  in  sin  is  clear,  it  must  be  admitted,  that, 
under  other  aspects,  the  question  presents  serious  difficulties 
and  grave  problems. 

While  we  consider  merely  common  every-day  actions, 
inspired  by  passions  which  are  common  to  all  men,  we  have 
in  our  own  hearts  a  criterion  and  measure  by  which  to  judge, 
more  or  less  exactly,  what  passes  in  other  men's  minds ;  but 
when  we  leave  this  field,  and  have  to  deal  with  unbridled 
passions,  which  give  rise  to  great  crimes,  we  no  longer  have 
the  same  standard,  and  we  can  judge  only  by  incomplete 
analogies ;  consequently,  we  do  so  in  a  partial  and  uncertain 
way. 

It  seems,  indeed,  as  if,  to  decide  exactly  the  degree  of 
responsibility  belonging  to  any  crime,  and  to  be  justified  in 
applying  to  the  criminal  the  same  standard  as  to  ourselves, 
we  ought  to  feel  within  ourselves  the  same  passions  that  exist 
in  him,  the  same  sentiments  that  he  has  received,  both  from 
nature  and  from  education ;  while  there  should  be  in  him 
the  same  preservative  sentiments,  and  the  same  aversions, 
that  nature  or  education  has  implanted  within  us.  Now, 
this  is  evidently  not  the  case. 

Indeed,  the  very  fact  of  crime  proves  that  there  are  in  the 
criminal  specially  perverse  instincts  which  are  not  found  in 
the  majority  of  men.  To  make  the  commission  of  the  crime 
possible,  there  must  have  been,  in  its  author,  certain  un- 
bridled and  fierce  passions,  which  rendered  him  capable  of 
it.  Now,  it  is  sufficient  to  look  within  ourselves  to  see  that 
such  passions  are  utter  strangers  to  our  souls.  For  instance, 
if  we  read  that  a  father  and  mother  have  subjected  their 
daughter  to  all  imaginable  tortures,  even  going  so  far  as  to 


sin.  431 

wound  her,  and  kill  her  by  burning  her  at  a  slow  fire ;  that 
a  miserable  assassin,  who,  up  to  the  age  of  twenty  years,  never 
did  any  injury  to  any  one,  and  was  guilty  of  no  crime  nor 
delinquency,  kills  eight  people  with  the  most  astonishing 
coolness ;  that  he  massacres  and  tramples  upon  a  woman  and 
children,  and  throws  them  into  a  ditch  which  he  had  pre- 
pared beforehand ;  that  another  assassin,  nineteen  years  old, 
glories  in  his  crime  as  if  it  were  the  noblest  thing  in  the 
world,  and,  when  dying,  delivers  the  most  emphatic  and 
absurd  discourse,  though  in  the  full  possession  of  his  reason ; 
if  we  reflect  upon  the  many  monstrous  and  infamous  crimes 
which  have  ensanguined  and  dishonored  the  earth  —  I  repeat, 
we  shall  vainly  seek  in  our  own  hearts  for  any  passions,  any 
sentiments,  which  could  give  us  the  key  to  these  cadaverous 
souls,  as  Rousseau  calls  them :  we  have  nothing  in  common 
with  them.  They  are  monsters,  as  the  popular  instinct  has 
well  expressed  it;  but,  if  they  are  monsters,  how  can  we 
judge  them  by  a  standard  derived  from  the  consideration  of 
normal  human  nature  ? 

To  be  strictly  entitled  (I  am  here  taking  a  purely  theo- 
retical stand-point;  and  I  demand,  in  the  name  of  a  social 
interest,  that  I  should  be  given  full  liberty  of  examination, 
even  in  so  odious  a  matter)  —  to  be  strictly  entitled,  I  say, 
to  judge  the  criminal  by  the  same  standard  which  I  apply  to 
myself,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  have  felt  the  same 
temptations  and  the  same  passions,  and  that  I  have  conquered 
them  by  means  of  my  free  will.  If  such  temptations  are 
absolutely  unknown  to  me,  so  entirely  that  if  it  could  be, 
let  us  say,  my  duty  at  a  given  moment  to  perform  such  a 
crime  —  for  instance,  to  kill  a  defenceless  person  —  I  should 
need  as  much  courage  to  decide  to  do  it  as  I  should  to  accom- 
plish the  most  heroic  action :  if  an  aversion  to  the  shedding 
of  blood  is  in  me  —  as  in  the  majority  of  men  —  an  invinci- 
ble repugnance,  what  right  have  I  to  condemn  with  horror 
a  human  being  in  whom  this  repugnance  certainly  did  not 
exist,  at  least  to  the  same  extent ;  since  he  has  killed  some 


432  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

one,  not  only  without  trembling,  but  sometimes  even  with 
the  most  abominable  coolness?  He  may  have  been  free  to 
resist  this  impulse  ;  I  do  not  deny  it :  indeed,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  do  not  know ;  for  I  never  saw  into  his  conscience.  But 
even  if  he  had  a  free  will,  as  I  believe,  it  is,  nevertheless, 
true  that  this  free  will  had  to  resist  impulses  of  which  we 
find  no  trace  within  ourselves ;  and  this  forbids  us  to  apply 
to  both  the  same  standard. 

It  is  plain  why  I  insist  upon  this  principle  of  a  common 
standard.  Indeed,  the  same  principle  of  responsibility  can- 
not be  applied,  except  to  beings  of  the  same  species.  I  could 
not  judge  a  tiger  (if  he  were  endowed  with  a  free  will)  by 
the  same  principle  as  a  man.  Now,  if  there  are  human 
tigers,  though  they  may  have  other  attributes  in  common 
with  me,  yet  if  they  are  tigers,  and  I  am  not,  this  is  enough 
to  make  their  nature  foreign  to  me,  and  to  take  from  me 
every  standard  by  which  to  judge. 

Undoubtedly  we  may  attempt  to  explain  criminal  actions, 
and  to  solve  the  problem  of  a  common  standard,  by  saying 
that  criminals  do  not  in  any  respect  differ  essentially  from 
other  men ;  that  every  man  has  within  him  the  same  germs 
of  criminal  instincts ;  that,  moreover,  men  never  attain  to 
the  most  atrocious  wickedness  suddenly,  but  only  by  degrees. 
"  Great  crimes  are  always  preceded  by  lesser  ones."  A  man 
begins  by  yielding  to  those  passions  which  are  most  univer- 
sal; then  from  one  passion  he  passes  to  another,  from  one 
weakness  to  another;  from  an  immoral  action  he  passes  to 
an  offence,  from  an  offence  to  a  crime.  At  first  the  crime  is 
committed  with  some  feeling  of  repugnance,  with  terror,  with 
remorse :  then  he  becomes  inured  to  it,  and  ends  by  killing 
for  the  sake  of  killing.  When  he  has  reached  the  last  step 
of  this  ladder,  he  is  undoubtedly  different  from  the  rest  of 
mankind ;  he  has  become  a  monster :  but  at  first  he  was  a 
man  like  other  men;  that  is,  a  weak  and  sinful  creature, 
susceptible  of  good  and  bad  instincts.  He  stifled  the  good 
ones,  and  yielded  to  the  bad  ones,  but  did  so  voluntarily,  just 


sin.  433 

as  we  ourselves  often  yield  to  evil  while  knowing  good. 
Unquestionably,  circumstances,  surroundings,  and  education, 
count  for  much ;  and  there  are  extenuating  circumstances 
which  we  should  take  into  account.  Yet  it  is  true,  that,  at 
every  step  in  the  descent,  the  individual  was  always  free  to 
stop,  or  even  to  return.  He  appears  to  be  of  a  different 
species  from  ourselves,  merely  because  we  see  the  point  at 
which  he  has  arrived,  not  that  from  which  he  set  out. 

This  explanation  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  best  that  can 
be  given,  and  it  is  sufficient  in  many  cases.  Unfortunately 
it  is  not  absolutely  true :  it  takes  no  account  of  a  great 
number  of  crimes  which  were  not  prefaced  by  others.  It 
does  not  explain  why  some  children,  or  some  young  people, 
exhibit  from  early  childhood  the  most  perverse  instincts,  as 
the  briefs  of  the  public  prosecutor  in  criminal  suits  daily 
prove  to  be  the  case.  There  are  beings  who  are  born  cruel, 
licentious,  treacherous,  thieves  —  savage  beings,  on  whom 
education,  example,  and  intimidation  fail  to  make  any  im- 
pression. I  will  not  say  with  physicians  who  make  a  spe- 
cialty of  treating  lunatics,  that  these  are  all  diseased  persons : 
I  say  only  that  they  are  beings  whose  nature  differs  from 
mine,  and  I  repeat  that  they  cannot  be  judged  by  the  same 
standard. 

Here  is  a  second  explanation,  which  comes  much  nearer 
the  truth,  although  it  still  leaves  many  points  in  obscurity. 
Undoubtedly,  it  may  be  said,  all  men  do  not  have  the  same 
passions,  instincts,  and  temptations,  but  alfTiave  some  pas- 
sions and  temptations.  One  has  a  passion  for  gambling, 
another  for  money,  or  licentiousness,  or  ambition.  Every 
one  can  find  in  himself  too  much  passion  and  weakness  to 
allow  him  to  pride  himself  on  his  virtue.  If  this  is  true, 
there  is  a  common  standard  for  all  men,  and  each  one  is 
under  the  same  obligation,  which  is,  that  he  should  resist  the 
passions  that  he  feels.  Each  has,  also,  the  same  responsibility 
when  he  yields.  Certainly,  I  may  say  to  the  criminal,  I  do 
not  have  the  very  same  passions  that  you  feel :  but  I  have 


434  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

passions,  and  it  is  as  hard  for  me  to  conquer  them  as  for 
you  to  conquer  yours ;  since  I  feel  myself  culpable  when  I 
yield  to  them,  I  have  a  right  to  call  you  culpable  when 
you  yield  to  your  special  vices. 

I  admit  the  justice  of  this  view ;  but,  if  we  accept  it,  we 
must  accept  its  consequences  also.  If  responsibility  consists 
solely  in  the  resistance  of  the  will  to  the  passions  and  to 
temptations  (and  it  cannot  be  placed  elsewhere),  then  the 
nature  of  the  temptations  is  of  little  importance ;  for  these 
temptations,  so  far  as  they  are  natural  to  me,  do  not  depend 
upon  me :  every  thing,  then,  depends  upon  the  force  of  the 
will.  Hence  it  is  not  the  material  of  the  action  which  con- 
stitutes culpability,  but  the  formal  part ;  that  is,  the  relation 
of  the  will,  on  the  one  hand  to  law,  on  the  other  to  the  temp- 
tation. But,  then,  why  should  we  execrate  a  homicide  more 
than  an  idle  person?  One  has  a  passion  for  revenge,  the 
other  for  indolence  and  far  niente.  He  who  commits  a 
homicide  may  have  resisted  his  passion  as  strongly  as  he 
who  abandons  himself  luxuriously  to  indolence  —  perhaps 
he  has  even  resisted  more  earnestly.  I  should  not  wish  to 
say,  with  the  Stoics,  that  all  faults  are  equally  bad ;  for  I 
consider  that  the  duty  of  respecting  the  life  of  my  fellow- 
creatures  is  a  more  essential  duty  than  that  of  labor :  conse- 
quently homicide  is,  in  itself,  abstractly  considered,  a  greater 
sin  than  indolence.  But,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  moral 
agent,  culpability  is  not  to  be  measured  solely  by  the  force  of 
the  obligation  —  though  that  is  also  an  element  —  but  by  the 
degree  of  discernment  and  of  moral  resistance.  Now,  once 
again,  he  who  commits  the  action  which  is  in  itself  the  more 
wicked,  may  be  less  guilty  than  he  who  commits  a  much  less 
vicious  action,  if  he  has  struggled  harder,  or  if  he  has  had 
less  light. 

Hence  it  follows,  that  the  execration  we  feel  for  the  crime 
is  not  always  exactly  proportionate  to  the  moral  responsi- 
bility of  the  agent.  This  execration,  indeed,  is  directed 
rather  to  the  material  nature  of  the  crime,  than  to  the  moral 


sin.  435 

estimate  of  the  agent,  which  is  purely  subjective,  and  for 
which,  I  repeat,  we  can  have  no  standard  of  measurement. 
This  is  so  true,  that  it  is  not  merely  the  action  itself  and  the 
fact  of  having  yielded  to  temptation  which  inspires  in  us  an 
invincible  repugnance,  but  it  is  the  temptation  itself  which 
does  so.  For  instance,  if  one  of  our  fellow-creatures  were 
to  tell  us  that  he  had  felt  temptations  to  homicide,  and  had 
resisted  them,  though  we  should  approve  of  his  resistance, 
we  should  still  feel  an  unconquerable  aversion  toward  him, 
and  it  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  continue  in  friendly 
relations  with  him. 

Incontestably,  then,  there  is  in  crime  an  odious  element 
which  is  purely  material,  and  which  should  not  be  con- 
founded with  the  essentially  moral  element,  which  is  purely 
subjective,  and  which  must  be  measured  by  the  part  which 
the  free  will  takes  in  the  action. 

Thus  the  doctrine  of  free  will  does  not  give  a  sufficient 
reason  why  some  men  are  criminal,  and  others  are  not.  In 
certain  men  there  is  a  natural  perversity  which  we  should 
undoubtedly  believe  that  they  are  able  to  resist  to  a  certain 
extent,  but  which  is  not  due  to  their  free  will,  and  which 
they  did  not  voluntarily  produce.  They  submit  to  it  rather 
than  choose  it;  and  while  we  must  admit  that  it  is  their 
duty  to  conquer  these  fatal  passions,  and  that  they,  as  well 
as  we,  appear  to  have  the  means  by  which  to  gain  the  vic- 
tory, yet  it  is  true  that  nature  has  placed  them  in  moral  con- 
ditions which  are  more  dangerous  and  terrible  than  those 
surrounding  us,  whom  she  has  endowed  with  gentler  social 
instincts.  In  one  sense  it  would,  perhaps,  be  permissible  to 
say  that  they  are  unhappy  rather  than  guilty,  more  deserv- 
ing of  pity  than  of  horror. 

This  sort  of  innate  perversity  which  is  found  in  certain 
men,  and  which  displays  itself  in  sad  and  bloody  characters, 
has  often  been  cited  in  proof  of  the  celebrated  doctrine  of 
original  sin.  It  is  said,  that  all  men  are  born  more  or  less 
egotistical  and  wicked;  but  some  seem  to  have  the  excep- 


436  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

tional  privilege  of  precocious  vice  and  predestined  wickedness. 
But  it  is  plain,  that,  even  if  we  should  admit  the  principle  of 
original  sin,  this  would  not  account  for  the  fact  under  our 
consideration;  for  original  sin  is  common  to  all  men,  and 
affects  all  equally.  We  all  have  sinned  in  Adam,  and  sinned 
in  the  same  way,  and  to  the  same  extent.  Hence  this  doc- 
trine will  not  explain  the  strange  fact  which  we  are  consid- 
ering; that  is,  the  inequality  of  natural  perversity  in  men.- 
The  doctrine  that  all  men,  as  jointly  and  severally  responsi- 
ble in  Adam,  are  wicked  and  corrupt  from  their  birth,  is 
comprehensible,  although  exaggerated.  But  why  should 
this  perversity  be  limited  in  some  to  a  common,  and  more  or 
less  innocent,  egotism,  which  is  even  tempered  by  gracious 
qualities  and  generous  instincts?  Why  should  this  native 
perversity  amount  in  others  to  ferocity,  so  great  that  they 
even  forget  all  human  sentiments  ?  The  dogma  of  original 
sin  cannot  explain  this. 

Kant  does  not  admit  the  doctrine  of  original  sin ;  but  he 
substitutes  for  it  another,  which  closely  resembles  it.  This  is 
what  he  calls  radical  sin.  The  fault  he  finds  with  original  sin 
is,  that  it  is  hereditary.  A  sin,  as  he  justly  observes,  is  essen- 
tially personal :  to  make  it  the  result  of  heredity  is  to  con- 
found it  with  disease.  Sin  can  be  only  the  consequence  of 
liberty.  Now,  it  is  an  essential  characteristic  of  liberty  that 
it  is  outside  of  time,  and  anterior  to  time.  The  very  fact  that 
the  free  act  or  sin  took  place  in  time,  shows  that  it  must  have 
been  determined  by  sensitive  mutables;  but  then  it  would 
be  a  necessity ;  it  would  no  longer  be  a  free  act.  Sin  is  the 
voluntary  preference  of  the  love  of  self  to  the  law  of  duty. 
If  it  be  supposed  that  the  love  of  self  is  what  determines 
us,  then  the  free  act  becomes  an  effect,  when  it  should  be  a 
cause.  Liberty,  then,  does  not  obey  the  love  of  self ;  but 
it  makes  the  love  of  self  a  general  maxim  for  its  own  guid- 
ance. It  is  liberty,  which,  by  its  own  choice,  makes  the  love 
of  self  the  motor  of  our  actions ;  but  it  is  not  the  love  of  self 
which  is  the  motor  of  its  choice.     Thus,  wishing  to  free 


sin.  437 

liberty  from  all  influence  of  mutables,  and  not  being  willing 
to  admit  that  any  sensitive  phenomenon  should  precede 
voluntary  determination,  Kant  was  compelled  to  place  the 
free  act  outside  of  time,  and  before  any  sensitive  determina- 
tion. Hence  comes  an  innate  or  radical  sin,  which  is  due  to 
our  own  choice,  and  is,  in  this  sense,  acquired :  but  it  may, 
at  the  same  time,  be  called  natural;  since  it  is  anterior  to 
every  sensitive  influence. 

I  have  already  refuted  this  strange  theory,  which  makes 
us  sinners  before  our  birth,  and  which,  while  it  is  not  open 
to  the  objection  of  making  us  responsible  for  the  faults  of 
our  fathers,  like  the  doctrine  of  original  sin,  is  yet  like  it  in 
that  it  makes  us  responsible  for  the  inclinations  and  vices 
which  are  born  with  us.  Now,  no  metaphysical  theory, 
however  specious  it  may  be,  can  ever  force  us  to  admit  that 
the  infant  who  strikes  his  nurse  does  so  by  a  choice  of  his 
will,  and  by  an  absolute  act  of  his  free  will.  When,  in  sup- 
port of  his  theory,  Kant  appeals  to  this  same  popular  opin- 
ion, condemning  the  wicked  man  who  has,  from  his  earliest 
infancy,  given  proofs  of  wickedness,  which,  so  to  speak,  he 
drew  in  with  his  milk,  he  seems  not  to  see  that  this  is  ex- 
actly the  problem  which  needs  explanation,  and  that  it  is 
very  possible  that  popular  opinion  errs  on  this  point,  as  it 
did  when  it  condemned  heretics  and  sorcerers  as  wicked. 

While  Kant's  theory  exaggerates  human  responsibility, 
making  it  begin  in  the  cradle,  Plato's  theory,  on  the  con- 
trary, destroys  all  responsibility,  absolutely  confounding  vice 
and  ignorance.  We  shall  find  the  truth  between  these  two 
extreme  theories,  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  fix  upon  the  proper  mean  with  exactness. 

In  my  opinion,  it  is  the  proper  destiny  of  man,  as  I  have 
already  said,  to  pass  from  the  state  of  nature  to  that  of  rea- 
son. Man  has  roots  which  plunge  into  the  animal  world: 
as  an  animal,  he  has  instincts  which  are  neither  good  nor 
bad,  but  which  we  call  good  when  they  tend  to  the  preser- 
vation of  the  species,  and  evil  when  they  tend  to  its  destruc- 


438  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

tion.  The  question  whether,  as  a  part  of  nature,  man  is 
good  or  evil  —  a  question  which  so  profoundly  interested  the 
philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century  —  should  not  be  an- 
swered either  one  way  or  the  other.  It  is  not  true  that  man 
is  merely  a  wolf,  as  Hobbes  says ;  neither  is  it  true,  as  Rous- 
seau maintains,  that  "  every  thing  is  good  which  proceeds 
from  the  Author  of  nature,  and  every  thing  degenerates  in 
our  hands  "  —  in  a  word,  that  the  natural  man  only  is  good, 
and  that  the  civilized  man  only  is  bad.  The  truth  is,  that 
the  natural  man,  so  far  as  we  can  judge  from  the  savages, 
is  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil  instincts,  sometimes  excited 
by  want  to  the  most  ferocious  acts,  sometimes  led  by  pity 
to  the  most  generous  ones. 

Kant  will  not  allow  it  to  be  said  that  man  is  at  once  good 
and  evil,  nor  that  he  is  neither  good  nor  evil.  These,  he 
says,  are  intermediate  terms,  which  are  not  philosophical. 
The  stand-point  of  those  who  accept  either  of  these  views 
he  calls  latitudinarianism ;  and  he  opposes  to  it  that  of  the 
rigorists,  who  admit  no  intermediate  terms,  and  who  regard 
man  either  as  entirely  good,  or  as  entirely  wicked.  These 
are  the  views,  on  the  one  hand,  of  Rousseau,  on  the  other  of 
Hobbes ;  of  La  Rochefoucauld,  or  of  Jansenism. 

I  admit,  that  in  philosophy  one  should,  so  far  as  possible, 
have  exact  opinions;  that  one  should  avoid  almost,  so  to 
speak,  and  very  nearly ;  but  one  ought  not  to  falsify  facts  in 
order  to  secure  the  merit  of  exactitude.  Nothing  can  be 
less  scientific  than  erroneous  precision :  nothing  can  be  more 
truly  scientific  than  to  be  contented  with  semi-affirmations 
when  certainty  is  impossible.  We  should  not  forget  those 
admirable  words  of  Aristotle :  "  We  should  require  of 
each  science,  only  that  degree  of  precision  of  which  it  is 
capable. " * 

In  considering  the  original  goodness  or  wickedness  of  man, 
we  should  carefully  distinguish  the  physical,  or  natural,  point 
of  view,  from  that  which  is  moral.  Are  we  speaking  of  man 
i  Eth.  Nic.  1.  i.  (ed.  Bertin,  1094,  b,  11-27). 


sin.  439 

as  a  natural,  or  as  a  moral,  agent  ?  As  "  coming  from  the 
hands  of  the  Author  of  nature,"  or  as  deciding  his  own  des- 
tiny by  his  free  will  ?  In  the  first  sense,  it  seems  to  me  clear 
that  neither  Hobbes  nor  Rousseau  is  entirely  right,  but  that 
each  is  partly  so.  In  the  second  sense,  man  is  neither  good 
nor  bad  so  long  as  he  remains  in  a  state  of  nature :  he  be- 
comes one  or  the  other  in  proportion  as  he  uses  his  liberty. 

Kant,  wishing  to  avoid  intermediate  terms,  and  being 
clearly  unable  to  maintain  that  man  is  absolutely  good  (mor- 
ally), since  experience  plainly  contradicts  this,  was  obliged 
to  maintain  the  Jansenist  thesis,  that  man  is  originally  and 
naturally  wicked.  The  manner  in  which  he  does  this  resem- 
bles in  many  respects  that  adopted  by  the  strictest  Calvin- 
istic  predestinarians.  Man,  he  says,  cannot  be  both  good 
and  wicked:  now,  he  is  not  good,  therefore  he  is  wicked. 
But  why  can  he  not  be  both  good  and  wicked?  Because 
the  free  act  by  which  he  chooses  to  be  either  the  one  or  the 
other  is  a  single,  indivisible,  absolute  act,  standing  outside 
of  the  series  of  phenomena.  He  chooses  at  one  time,  and 
for  his  whole  life,  his  moral  destiny.  Now,  he  cannot  choose 
both  good  and  evil :  he  cannot  consistently  take  for  his  motive 
both  the  principle  of  duty  and  the  love  of  self.  Taking  the 
moral  law  for  his  guide,  he  cannot  consent  to  any  exception, 
and  he  ought  to  follow  it  in  all  his  actions.  Hence,  if  a 
single  one  of  his  actions  is  found  to  be  contrary  to  the  moral 
law  (as  experience  shows  but  too  many  to  be),  that  is 
enough  to  prove  that  the  moral  law  is  not  his  motor :  then 
this  must  be  the  love  of  self,  and  therefore  the  man  is 
morally  bad. 

The  double  defect  in  this  strict  theory  is,  that  it  admits  of 
no  comparative  degree  in  the  moral  value  of  men,  and  that  it 
leads  logically  to  the  Stoical  paradox  that  all  faults  are 
equal.  To  say  that  a  man  cannot  be  both  good  and  evil,  is 
the  same  as  saying  that  there  are  no  comparative  degrees  of 
wickedness.  How,  indeed,  could  there  be  any  comparative 
degree  of  wickedness,  if  good  did  not  mingle  with  evil,  and 


440  THE  THEORY  OF  MOEALS. 

temper  its  excesses  ?  If  none  of  our  actions  is  to  any  extent 
determined  by  the  motive  principle  of  duty  (which  is  the 
hypothesis) ;  if  all,  without  exception,  spring  from  the  love 
of  self  —  then  the  fact  of  choosing  the  evil  principle  in  pref- 
erence to  the  good  one  is  absolutely  evil,  and  there  is  no 
degree  of  bad  or  worse.  Undoubtedly  the  actions  may  be 
materially  more  or  less  bad ;  but  morally  they  are  all  equal, 
so  far  as  they  emanate  from  one  and  the  same  principle. 
Now,  not  only  does  this  conclusion  seem  directly  contrary  to 
experience,  which  declares  that  there  are  degrees  of  com- 
parison between  men,  but  I  will  also  add,  that,  from  a  prac- 
tical point  of  view,  it  would  entirely  benumb  every  moral 
initiative.  If,  whatever  I  may  do,  so  long  as  I  do  not  per- 
form the  impossible  feat  of  being  absolutely  faultless,  I  am 
neither  more  nor  less  wicked  than  the  greatest  villains,  why 
should  I  make  the  slightest  effort  to  modify  my  nature?  and 
would  it  not  be  much  more  convenient  to  yield  quietly  to 
my  instincts  ? 

Here  we  encounter  the  second  difficulty,  which  is  no  less 
serious.  It  is,  how  to  explain  the  possibility  of  moral  con- 
version. If  man  must  be  either  entirely  good  or  entirely 
bad,  then  there  can  be  no  possible  transition  from  one  of 
these  states  to  the  other.  An  absolute  act  of  the  free  will 
can  be  superseded  only  by  another  which  is  equally  absolute. 
Thus,  according  to  Kant's  hypothesis,  the  passage  from  evil 
to  good,  or  moral  conversion,  would  be  a  mystery  and  a 
miracle.  Indeed,  since  the  free  act  is,  according  to  his  view, 
a  single,  absolute,  indivisible  act,  outside  of  all  time,  how 
can  one  pass  from  this  act  —  which  by  the  hypothesis  is 
primitively  evil  in  every  man  —  to  another  act,  equally  abso- 
lute and  indivisible,  which  also  embraces  the  whole  life? 
Moreover,  does  experience  show  the  possibility  of  such  a 
•conversion?  Where  can  we  find  a  man  so  thoroughly  con- 
verted to  good  that  there  is  no  trace  of  evil  in  him,  which 
would  be  necessary  if  he  is  good,  according  to  Kant,  since 
•one  cannot  be  both  good  and  evil  at  the  same  time  ?    Since 


sin.  441 

in  every  man,  however  holy,  however  sincerely  converted 
to  good,  we  see  always  some  sin,  some  weakness,  some  evil ; 
and  since,  according  to  Kant,  there  can  be  no  commingling 
of  good  and  evil  —  it  follows  that  the  most  saintly  of  men  is 
still  evil :  and,  since  there  are  no  comparative  degrees  in  evil, 
he  is  absolutely  wicked,  just  like  the  most  vicious  of  men. 
In  other  words,  there  is  no  difference  between  the  saint  and 
the  sinner :  there  is  no  saint.  Kant  therefore  does  not  hesi- 
tate to  repeat  several  times  that  he  is  not  sure  that  any 
virtuous  act  was  ever  performed  on  the  earth. 

I  remark  again  upon  the  identity  of  this  doctrine  with 
that  of  the  Stoics.  In  their  view  also,  the  wise  man  was 
merely  an  ideal,  of  which  no  example  ever  had  been,  or  ever 
would  be,  given  upon  earth.  Neither  Socrates,  nor  Zeno, 
nor  Cleanthes,  was  a  wise  man ;  for  the  Stoics,  as  for  Kant, 
no  man  who  is  not  absolutely  wise,  is  so  at  all.  According 
to  each  of  these  theories,  virtue  is  impossible,  and  vice  is 
irremediable  and  absolute.  But  as  it  is  a  contradiction  of 
terms  that  a  man  should  be  obliged  to  fulfil  a  law  which  it 
is  impossible  to  obey,  and  since,  in  fact,  he  feels  himself 
under  obligation  to  be  virtuous,  it  must  be  that  virtue  is 
possible.  Since,  too,  both  fact  and  experience  show  that 
virtue  never  exists  without  alloy,  it  follows  that  it  can  co- 
exist with  sin ;  but  then  man  is  able  to  be  at  the  same  time 
both  good  and  evil. 

Kant  saw  this  difficulty,  and  attempted  to  meet  it.  He 
sees,  that  even  if  one  should  admit,  as  a  mystery,  the  possi- 
bility of  conversion  to  good,  there  would  still  remain  one 
objection,  which  is,  that  our  acts  are  always  imperfect,  and, 
in  some  respects,  defective.  According  to  the  preceding 
principles,  it  would  seem  to  follow  that  man  can  never 
return  to  good,  since  he  is  never  capable  of  any  wisdom 
but  such  as  is  imperfect;  that  is  to  say,  one  composed  of 
mingled  good  and  evil,  which  is  impossible,  according  to 
the  hypothesis.  But,  says  Kant,  this  imperfection  of  our 
acts  is  due  to  the  fact  that  they  occur  in  time,  and  that 


442  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

they  are  what  may  be  called,  metaphysically,  contingent. 
God  sees  the  whole  series  of  our  acts :  he  even  penetrates 
beyond  them,  into  the  conscience  which  inspires  them.  Hence 
it  is  not  the  goodness  of  the  acts  which  really  makes  the 
goodness  of  the  man,  but  it  is  the  goodness  of  the  con- 
science. He  who  has  a  good  and  pure  conscience,  is  judged 
to  be  good  by  God,  though  he  may  be  more  or  less  imperfect 
in  his  actions. 

This  distinction  is  certainly  quite  just ;  and,  from  a  prac- 
tical point  of  view,  it  is  certain  that  God  would  be  satisfied 
with  a  good  conscience  and  good  intention,  even  if  the 
actions  should  not  be  in  exact  harmony  with  this  intention. 
But  it  follows  from  this  that  we  should  never  expect  from 
man  any  thing  more  than  semi-goodness ;  that  is  to  say,  a 
mixture  of  good  and  evil.  Kant  attempts  to  save  his  theory 
by  making  a  distinction  between  the  conscience  and  the  acts. 
It  is  the  acts,  which,  in  so  far  as  they  are  in  time,  are  imper- 
fect :  it  is  the  conscience  which  is  absolutely  good  in  itself. 
This  is  not  justified  by  experience.  The  imperfection  of  our 
acts  is  not  merely  metaphysical,  but  is  also  moral.  It  is  not 
due  merely  to  the  fact  that  they  are  successive,  and  that 
they  therefore  express  but  imperfectly  the  good  conscience : 
it  is  due  to  the  fact  that  they  emanate  from  a  conscience 
which  is  not  absolutely  pure,  but  which  always  wavers  and 
oscillates  more  or  less  between  good  and  evil;  although 
good  predominates  in  those  whom  we  call  good.  Besides, 
to  distinguish  between  the  conscience  and  the  acts,  and  to 
suppose  that  an  absolutely  good  conscience  could  coexist 
with  defective  acts,  is  an  idea  that  is  practically  dangerous, 
and  not  far  removed  from  the  excesses  of  certain  fanatical 
sects,  which,  fortifying  themselves  with  the  same  distinction, 
believe  that  internal  sanctity  will  atone  for  external  sins. 
Kant  has  too  pure  a  feeling  for  moral  truth  to  be  suspected 
of  favoring  such  excesses ;  but  his  doctrine  tends  that  way, 
although  he  is  unconscious  of  it. 

To  correct  whatever  excesses  there  may  be  in  the  princi- 


sin.  443 

pies  just  explained,  Kant  says  that  it  is  a  sufficient  assurance 
of  the  purity  of  one's  conscience  if  one  is  conscious  of  mak- 
ing progress  in  good.  We  cannot  be  conscious  of  an  absolute 
virtue :  it  is  enough  that  we  should  know  that  we  are  ad- 
vancing in  virtue.  This  theory  also  recalls  most  strongly 
the  Stoical  doctrine.  The  Stoics  believed  that  although 
it  was  impossible  to  attain  wisdom  in  its  absolute  purity, 
yet  it  might  be  approached ;  and  this  imperceptible  and  con- 
tinuous movement  toward  an  inaccessible  point  they  called 
progress,  ttpokotttj.  Thus  explained,  the  doctrine  of  Kant,  as 
well  as  that  of  the  Stoics,  is  quite  admissible,  and  is  even 
merely  the  expression  of  a  commonplace  truth  —  that  it  is 
impossible  for  man  to  attain  perfection.  So,  too,  if  we 
understand  by  goodness,  perfection;  and  by  wickedness, 
imperfection :  then  it  is  self-evident  that  man  cannot  be  at 
the  same  time  both  perfect  and  imperfect.  But,  if  we  mean 
by  goodness  a  continual  progress  toward  good,  then  evi- 
dently this  progress  always  implies  a  certain  admixture  of 
evil ;  for,  if  none  at  all  were  present,  there  could  be  no  more 
progress  —  the  end  would  be  attained.  Now,  this  is  exactly 
what  is  meant  by  those  who  say  that  man  is  both  good  and 
bad  —  a  doctrine  which  Kant  rejected  as  latitudinarian,  but 
to  which  he  was  obliged  to  return,  because,  by  his  own 
admission,  the  opposite  doctrine  is  inadmissible.  It  was 
hardly  necessary  to  make  so  many  fine  distinctions,  only  to 
say  at  last  the  same  thing  with  every  one  else. 

For  myself,  I  take,  in  regard  to  this  question,  a  stand- 
point directly  opposed  to  that  of  Kant ;  and  I  maintain  that 
man,  whether  from  a  physical  and  natural  point  of  view,  or 
from  a  moral  one,  is  both  good  and  bad  —  never  absolutely 
bad,  and  never  absolutely  good. 

From  a  physical  or  natural  point  of  view,  man,  I  say 
again,  has  instincts  which,  morally  speaking,  are  neither 
good  nor  bad,  since  they  do  not  depend  upon  his  choice ; 
but,  considered  in  relation  to  their  effects,  they  will  be  called 
good  if  they  tend  toward  the  good  of  others,  and  of  the 


444  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

individual  himself,  and  evil  if  they  tend  in  the  opposite 
direction.  Thus  cruelty  and  intemperance  are  evil  inclina- 
tions, while  pity  and  courage  are  good  instincts. 

Now,  if  we  take  this  purely  physical  point  of  view,  we 
may  say  that  these  good  and  bad  instincts  are  distributed 
among  men  in  the  most  unequal  way,  some  having  received 
instincts  which  are  kind  and  lovable,  others  such  as  are 
harmful.  Some  closely  resemble  animals  by  the  predomi- 
nance in  them  of  gross  and  ignoble  inclinations:  others 
approach  more  nearly  the  normal  state  of  humanity  by  the 
predominance  of  refined  and  noble  instincts.  Whatever  one 
may  wish,  and  however  large  a  share  one  may  be  disposed 
to  assign  theoretically  to  the  free  will,  this  primitive  differ- 
ence in  men  is  very  much  like  a  sort  of  predestination.  This 
is  probably  what  gave  rise  to  that  terrible  dogma,  which  has 
caused  such  excesses,  confounding  the  domain  of  nature  and 
that  of  liberty,  or  even  absolutely  denying  all  liberty.  The 
Calvinists,  the  Jansenists,  and  the  Augustinians,  generally 
divide  men  into  two  classes  —  the  elect  and  the  reprobate; 
and  we  know  that  the  class  of  the  reprobate  was  infinitely 
larger  than  that  of  the  elect.  Of  course,  I  do  not  accept  the 
doctrine  of  theological  predestination  —  that  barbarous  doc- 
trine, which  makes  the  distinction  between  the  good  and  the 
wicked  depend  upon  an  absolute  decree  and  an  arbitrary  act 
of  the  Creator,  and  which  adds  still  further  to  the  divine 
responsibility  by  reducing  the  number  of  the  elect  to  almost 
nothing.  But  I  do  admit  that  there  is  a  sort  of  natural 
predestination,  in  the  sense  that  the  human  soul  is  not  a 
blank  tablet,  upon  which  the  free  will  may  write  whatever 
characters  it  chooses.  Before  the  free  will  awakens,  nature 
has  already  engraved  upon  us  definite  characters,  by  means 
of  the  physical  and  moral  environment  within  which  we  are 
born,  and  also  by  means  of  our  physical  organization,  and 
even  certain  innate  psychological  facts  due  to  heredity; 
while  to  all  these  causes  must  be  added  circumstances  and 
education.     From  all  these  conditions  united,  there  results 


sin.  445 

for  each  his  special  and  individual  nature  —  what  Kant  calls 
his  u  empirical  character,"  anterior  to  any  free  act  and  any 
responsibility.  This  combination  of  exterior,  and  wholly 
pre-ordained,  circumstances,  produces  a  certain  inequality  in 
the  predisposition  of  men  to  good  and  evil. 

From  this  first  state,  which  I  call  the  state  of  nature,  it 
is  each  man's  duty  to  raise  himself  up  to  that  superior  state 
which  I  call  the  state  of  reason;  and  though  I  am  quite 
willing  to  admit  that  this  obligation  is  equally  binding  on  all 
men,  and  that  the  means  of  fulfilling  it  have  been  given  to 
all,  so  that  all  have  a  sufficing  free  will,  just  as  the  Molinists 
believe  that  all  have  sufficing  grace,  yet  it  is  very  certain 
that  this  sufficing  free  will  does  not  always  suffice,  as  in 
the  case  of  excitement  from  fever  or  delirium.  Now,  it  is 
questionable  whether  the  innate  predominance  of  the  harm- 
ful instincts,  together  with  the  absence  of  the  natural 
counterbalance  of  moral  sensibility,  united  with  a  sort  of 
blindness  of  the  conscience,  does  not  create  a  certain  pre- 
disposition to  evil,  in  which  state  the  free  will,  though  exist- 
ing in  potentia,  is  unable  to  exert  itself  in  actu  ;  and  it  would 
be  deciding  such  a  question  quite  too  flippantly  to  assume 
d  priori  that  all  men  have  the  same  moral  capacity,  which  is 
far  from  being  demonstrated.  It  is  even  a  question  whether 
moral  responsibility  is  an  essential  and  primordial,  therefore 
universal,  state  for  man,  or  whether  it  may  not  be  an 
acquired  state,  itself  resulting  from  a  certain  natural  devel- 
opment of  the  reason,  just  as  we  see  that  in  children  discern- 
ment precedes  free  will.  Perhaps  humanity  did  not  attain 
this  idea  of  moral  responsibility  for  a  long  time ;  and  per- 
haps all  men,  even  in  a  state  of  civilization,  have  not  yet 
attained  it ;  however  this  may  be,  all  do  not  have  it  to  the 
same  extent. 

In  a  word,  we  must  distinguish  in  sin  a  material  element, 
to  which  belong  the  origin,  the  environment,  the  physical 
constitution,  and  the  education;  and  also  &  formal  element  — 
that  is,  the  degree  of  voluntary  co-operation  or  consent  to 


446         '     THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

the  act,  united  with  the  consciousness  of  violated  obligation. 
Responsibility  corresponds  exclusively  to  this  formal  element. 
The  material  element  is  outside  (unless,  perhaps,  so  far  as 
it  is  the  result  of  a  habit;  that  is,  of  an  anterior  act  of 
the  will).  Now,  of  these  two  elements,  the  material  and  the 
formal,  only  the  first  is  perfectly  well  known  to  us,  because 
it  consists  in  exterior  acts.  The  second  is  unknown  to  us, 
because  it  is  purely  internal ;  and  we  have  nothing  by  which 
to  measure  it.  Undoubtedly,  analogy  and  induction  enable 
us  to  draw,  from  certain  exterior  signs,  indications  which  are 
more  or  less  plausible ;  but,  except  in  the  case  of  one's  own 
individual  conscience,  all  certainty  in  regard  to  human 
responsibility  must  fail  us. 

But,  in  the  ordinary  popular  judgment  of  men,  the  mate- 
rial and  the  formal  are  confused;  and,  effects  rather  than 
principles  being  regarded,  indignation  and  horror  are  propor- 
tioned to  the  atrocity  of  the  action ;  while  the  internal  mo- 
tives, or  the  subjective  state  6f  conscience  of  the  unhappy 
creature  who  is  the  object  of  condemnation,  are  utterly 
unknown. 

This  latitudinarian  doctrine  as  to  human  responsibility 
cannot  be  accused  of  favoring  moral  laxity ;  for  one  always 
knows  very  well  in  one's  own  mind  whether  one  is  responsi- 
ble, and  no  theory  can  make  jo\i  believe  that  you  are  not 
so,  when  you  feel  that  you  really  are.  On  the  contrary,  the 
discussion  of  responsibility  awakens  the  feeling  of  it;  and 
no  one  can  take  advantage  in  his  own  case  of  the  preceding 
concessions.  For  even  supposing  him  to  be  in  that  state  of 
ignorance  which,  according  to  Plato,  is  the  essential  charac- 
teristic of  sin  (while  in  my  view  this  is  found  only  in  certain 
states  of  sin)  — supposing,  I  say,  that  he  were  in  that  state, 
in  learning  to  discuss  the  degree  and  measure  of  his  responsi- 
bility, he  would  thereby  develop  the  sentiment  which  he  had 
not  previously  possessed.  If  it  is  objected  that  this  theory- 
furnishes  excuses  for  vice,  which  may  always  cast  the  blame 
on  nature  or  education,  I  answer,  that,  if  these  excuses  are 


sin.  447 

true  and  legitimate,  I  do  not  see  why  vice  or  crime  itself 
should  be  deprived  of  the  rightful  benefit  of  them :  and,  if 
they  are  not  true,  my  theory  has  nothing  to  do  with  them ; 
for  it  does  not  require  that  a  man  should  delude  himself,  but 
only  that  he  should  not  judge  others  rashly. 

Moreover,  the  more  latitudinarianism  I  would  desire  in 
judging  other  men,  the  stricter  I  would  be  in  relation  to 
the  judgment  a  man  forms  of  himself.  Men  are  generally 
indulgent  to  themselves,  and  severe  to  others.  The  con- 
trary is  right.  Indeed,  when  other  men  are  concerned,  we 
do  not,  and  we  never  can,  know  to  what  extent  nature  has 
paralyzed  the  will  within  them :  but,  as  to  ourselves,  we  never 
know  how  far  will  can  overcome  nature ;  and  we  have  no 
right  to  set  this  limit  at  one  point  or  another.  As  to  other 
men,  we  are  not  responsible  for  their  conduct ;  and  therefore 
we  ought  to  give  the  fullest  weight  to  extenuating  circum- 
stances —  though  showing  no  favor  to  the  evil  in  itself,  which 
remains  the  same,  whatever  may  be  the  extent  of  the  subjec- 
tive responsibility  of  the  agent.  But,  on  the  contrary,  when 
we  ourselves  are  concerned,  for  the  very  reason  that  we  are 
responsible  for  our  own  salvation,  we  cannot  place  our  aim 
too  high:  consequently  we  cannot  limit  too  strictly  our 
excuses  and  our  irresponsibility.  We  should,  then,  always 
act  as  if  our  free  will  were  absolute ;  but,  in  judging  other 
men,  we  should  never  forget  that  it  is  relative. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.— THE  SANCTIONS  OF  THE  MORAL 

LAW. 

MERIT  is  generally  defined  as  being  that  quality  in 
virtue  by  which  a  moral  agent  becomes  worthy  of  a 
reward :  demerit  should,  then,  be,  conversely,  the  quality  by 
which  a  moral  agent  renders  himself,  in  a  sense,  worthy  of 
punishment.  In  other  words,  merit  and  demerit  would  be 
the  relation  which  a  moral  being  may  have  either  to  reward 
or  to  punishment. 

I  think  that  precision  of  ideas  requires  that  the  idea  of 
merit  and  demerit  should  be  considered  in  itself,  independ- 
ently of  reward  and  punishment. 

I  remarked,  in  the  early  part  of  this  book,  that  the  objects 
of  our  actions  have  in  themselves,  before  there  is  any  moral 
resolution,  a  certain  value,  which  is  proportionate  to  the 
excellence  of  their  natures.  A  good  heart  is  worth  more 
than  a  good  stomach :  a  good  mind  united  to  a  good  heart 
is  worth  more  than  goodness  without  intelligence.  In  gen- 
eral, the  soul  is  preferable  to  the  body,  the  heart  to  the 
senses,  reason  to  passion.  Thus  there  is  a  scale,  whose 
degrees  should  measure  the  intensity  of  our  esteem,  and 
consequently  should  regulate  our  actions  in  conformity  with 
this  esteem. 

Not  only  is  there  a  certain  comparative  order  of  excellence 
in  our  faculties  themselves,  but,  as  we  have  seen,  there  is  one 
between  the  different  beings  in  nature.  Man  is  superior  to 
the  animal,  the  animal  to  the  plant,  the  plant  itself  to  inani- 
mate matter.     Now,  that  which  distinguishes  man  from  all 

448 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  449 

other  beings,  is  his  capacity  for  elevating  himself  by  means  of 
his  will  above  the  degree  of  excellence  which  he  has  received 
individually,  and  approaching  indefinitely  the  highest  state 
which  he  can  conceive  as  possible  for  human  nature.  He 
can  also  descend  below  his  original  state.  In  the  first  case 
he  gains  in  value  and  excellence  :  in  the  second,  he  loses, 
and  lowers  himself ;  he  sacrifices  some  of  his  worth. 

I  give  the  name  of  merit  to  the  voluntary  increase  of  our 
interior  excellence;  that  of  demerit,  to  the  voluntary  dimi- 
nution of  this  excellence.  It  is  a  sort  of  moral  rise  and  fall 
in  stocks,  to  borrow  a  financial  term.  The  moral  worth  and 
value  of  man  is  an  effect  which,  like  economic  values,  may 
rise  and  fall,  doing  this  purely  by  the  will.  He  who  does 
right  gains  in  value ;  he  has  merit ;  his  action  is  meritorious. 
He  who  does  wrong  loses  merit :  his  action  is  one  of  demerit. 

Demerit  is  not  merely  the  absence,  or  lack,  of  merit.  The 
absence  of  merit  consists  in  doing  neither  good  nor  evil, 
which  is  the  case  in  indifferent  actions.  Demerit  is  not  a 
simple  negation,  a  defect,  a  lack:  it  is,  so  to  speak,  what 
is  called  in  mathematics  a  negative  quantity,  which  is  not  a 
mere  nothing ;  for  a  debt  is  not  merely  a  not  having ;  a  lots 
is  not  merely  a  non-acquisition.  These  are  minus  quantities. 
Demerit  is,  then,  a  minus  merit,  a  real  loss,  a  diminution. 

"An  unreasoning  animal  practises  no  virtue  [says  Kant];  but  this 
omission  is  not  a  demerit,  for  he  has  violated  no  inner  law.  He  has  not 
been  urged  to  a  good  action  by  a  moral  sentiment ;  and  the  zero,  or  omis- 
sion, is  only  a  pure  negation.     This  is  not  the  case  with  man." 

Some  have  advocated  the  opinion,  that  merit  is  in  inverse 
proportion  to  obligation ;  that,  when  the  obligation  is  abso- 
lutely strict  —  as,  for  instance,  that  of  not  stealing,  or  not 
killing  —  the  merit  is  equal  to  zero :  while,  if  the  action  is 
entirely  one  of  devotion,  the  merit  is  extreme ;  because,  they 
say,  devotion  cannot  be  strictly  obligatory.  Thus  there  are 
two  kinds  of  good  actions  —  one  obligatory,  the  other  not  so. 
Good  is  united  with  duty  up  to  a  certain  point;  beyond 


450  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

that,  duty  ceases  :  but  a  free  field  is  left  for  virtue,  and  con- 
sequently for  merit.  What  is  meritorious  is  thus  opposed  to 
what  is  obligatory. 

I  have  already  discussed  this  distinction  between  good 
and  duty  —  between  definite  and  indefinite  duties.1  I  do 
not  accept  this  theory.  In  my  view,  there  are  no  purely 
meritorious  actions  which  would  not  be  obligatory,  and  there 
are  no  obligatory  actions  which  would  not  be  meritorious. 
Neither  do  I  admit  that  merit  is  in  inverse  proportion  to 
obligation. 

Is  this  equivalent  to  saying  that  there  are  no  comparative 
degrees  of  merit,  and  that  all  good  actions  are  equally  meri- 
torious? No,  certainly  not;  but  here  we  accept  but  one 
standard.  Merit  depends  upon  both  the  difficulty  and  the 
importance  of  the  duty.  Why,  for  instance,  is  there  but 
little  merit  in  not  appropriating  the  property  of  others?  Be- 
cause education  has  so  moulded  us  that  most  people  feel  no 
temptation  of  that  sort,  and  that,  even  if  one  should  feel  such 
a  temptation,  one  would  be  ashamed  to  claim  the  merit  of 
resisting  it.  Why  is  there  great  merit  in  sacrificing  one's 
life  for  the  happiness  of  others?  Because  we  have  a  very 
strong  attachment  to  life,  and  our  feeling  of  love  for  man- 
kind in  general  is  usually  very  weak.  To  sacrifice,  for  the 
sake  of  duty,  something  we  greatly  love  to  something  which 
we  love  but  little,  is  plainly  very  difficult :  this  is  why  we 
attribute  very  great  merit  to  this  act. 

The  proof  that  it  is  the  difficulty,  and  not  the  greater  or 
less  degree  of  obligation,  which  constitutes  the  merit  of  an 
action,  is,  that  a  strictly  obligatory  act  may  have  the  highest 
degree  of  merit  if  it  is  very  difficult,  and  costs  great  effort. 
For  instance,  nothing  is  more  obligatory  than  justice.  Give 
to  each  one  his  due,  is  one  of  the  elementary  maxims  of 
morality.  But  suppose  that  a  man  has,  during  a  long  life, 
enjoyed,  with  perfect  serenity  of  conscience,  a  large  fortune, 
which  he  believes  to  be  his  own,  and  of  which  he  has  made 

i  II.,  iii.  and  iv. 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT. 

a  most  noble  use :  suppose  that,  on  the  thresl 
he  learns  that  it  is  not  his.  Suppose,  to  render" 
more  difficult,  that  he  alone  knows  this,  and  might  conse- 
quently keep  it  with  perfect  safety  if  he  chose  to  do  so. 
Make  the  situation  worse,  and  suppose  that  this  fortune 
belongs  to  heirs  who  are  in  abject  poverty,  and  that  he  who 
holds  it  will  himself  be  reduced  to  utter  destitution  when 
he  resigns  it.  Invent  all  sorts  of  circumstances  which  shall 
render  the  duty  both  more  obligatory  and  more  difficult :  you 
will  then  have  an  action  which  will  be  quite  as  meritorious 
as  the  most  voluntary  and  least  obligatory  one  could  be. 

It  is  evident  that  the  merit  of  an  action  depends,  not  only 
on  its  difficulty,  but  also  on  the  importance  of  the  duty. 
Thus,  the  merit  of  the  difficulty  overcome  is  no  greater  in 
morals  than  in  poetry,  if  this  is  all.  One  might  unques- 
tionably impose  upon  himself  a  sort  of  moral  gymnastics, 
and  consequently  undergo  very  difficult  tests,  though  all 
would  be  practically  useless ;  but  these  could  be  performed 
merely  as  trials  and  exercises,  and  not  as  duties.  Moreover, 
it  would  be  necessary  that  these  trials  should  have  some 
relation  to  the  life  which  one  would  be  called  upon  to  lead. 
For  instance,  if  a  missionary  or  a  traveller,  who  will  be 
obliged  all  his  life  to  brave  every  climate  and  every  danger, 
should  train  himself  in  advance  by  bold  and  venturesome 
enterprises,  these  would  be  reasonable  and  meritorious.  But 
one  who,  out  of  bravado  and  ostentation,  with  no  scientific 
aim  in  view,  should  attempt  to  climb  inaccessible  mountains, 
swim  across  an  arm  of  the  sea,  fight  publicly  with  wild 
beasts,  etc.,  would  perform  actions  which  would  not  be  desti- 
tute of  merit,  since  they  would  be  courageous;  but  their 
merit  would  not  equal  that  which  we  attribute  to  other 
actions  which  are  less  difficult,  but  wiser. 

Two  elements  must,  then,  be  united  in  an  action,  in  order 
to  give  it  merit  —  difficulty,  and  intrinsic  value.  As  to  de- 
merit, this  depends  on  the  importance  of  the  duties  and  the 
ease  with  which  they  might  be  accomplished.     This  is  why 


452  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

demerit  is,  in  one  sense,  the  reverse  of  merit.  When  an 
action  has  very  little  merit,  the  reverse  of  that  action  would 
have  very  great  demerit,  and  conversely.  Let  us  select 
some  examples :  a  judge  who  administers  justice  impartially ; 
a  merchant  who  sells  his  goods  at  their  true  value ;  a  debtor 
who  pays  his  creditor  punctually ;  a  soldier  who  is  exact  in 
drill,  obedient  to  discipline,  and  faithful  to  his  duties  in  time 
of  peace ;  a  scholar  who  performs  regularly  the  work  assigned 
him  —  all  these  persons  perform  acts  which  are  noble  and 
praiseworthy,  but  not  extraordinary.  "We  approve,  but  do 
not  admire,  them.  To  manage  one's  fortune  economically, 
not  to  yield  too  much  to  the  pleasures  of  the  senses,  not  to 
lie,  not  to  wound  or  to  strike  our  fellow-creatures,  are  all 
good,  right,  and  proper  actions,  worthy  of  esteem,  but  not 
of  admiration.  Here  is  modest  merit,  proportionate  to  the 
efforts  and  the  sacrifices  which  are  required. 

In  proportion  as  acts  become  more  difficult,  they  become 
nobler.  If  they  are  very  difficult,  we  call  them  heroic  and 
sublime,  provided  that  they  are  also  good  —  for  heroism 
is  sometimes  employed  in  doing  evil.  He  who,  like  Harley, 
says  to  an  all-powerful  usurper:  "It  is  a  great  pity  when 
the  valet  discharges  the  master ;  "  he  who,  like  the  Viscount 
d'Orte,  replies  to  Charles  IX.,  after  the  massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew's  Day:  "My  soldiers  are  not  executioners;" 
he  who,  like  Boissy-d'Anglas,  maintains  the  rights  of  an 
assembly  with  unshaken  firmness  in  the  face  of  the  bloody 
violence  of  a  revolted  people ;  he  who,  like  Morus  or  Dubourg, 
prefers  to  die  rather  than  to  sacrifice  his  faith ;  he  who,  like 
Columbus,  braves  an  unknown  ocean,  and  the  mutiny  of  a 
coarse  and  superstitious  troop,  in  obedience  to  a  noble  con- 
viction; he  who,  like  Alexander,  has  such  faith  in  friend- 
ship as  to  receive  from  the  hands  of  his  physician  a  drink 
which  is  said  to  be  poisoned ;  every  man  who  sacrifices  him- 
self for  his  fellow-creatures  —  who,  in  the  fire,  in  the  water, 
or  in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  braves  death  to  save  life ;  who,  to 
propagate  truth,  to  keep  his  faith,  to  serve  religion  or  sci- 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  453 

ence,  or  humanity,  does  not  recoil  from  hunger,  thirst, 
poverty,  slavery,  tortures,  or  death  —  is  a  hero.  This  ex- 
pression signifies  that  the  soul  has  risen  above  the  common 
plane.  In  all  these  acts,  there  is  extraordinary  merit,  be- 
cause the  efforts  which  it  has  cost  are  equally  extraordinary. 

Bad  actions  have  also  comparative  degrees.  But  here  it 
is  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  most  detestable  are  those  which 
are  opposed  to  simply  good  actions :  on  the  contrary,  an  action 
which  is  not  heroic  is  not,  therefore,  necessarily  bad ;  and,  if 
it  is  bad,  it  is  not  the  most  criminal  of  acts. 

For  instance,  to  be  respectful  to  one's  parents  is  a  good 
and  right  action,  but  it  is  not  heroic.  On  the  contrary,  to 
strike,  insult,  or  kill  them,  are  abominable  actions,  among 
the  worst  and  most  hideous  which  can  be  committed.  To 
love  one's  friends,  to  do  all  one  can  for  them,  is  the  act  of  a 
good  and  well-endowed  soul,  but  there  is  nothing  sublime  in 
it.  On  the  contrary,  to  betray  friendship,  to  slander  those 
who  love  us,  to  lie  in  order  to  gain  their  confidence,  to  get 
possession  of  their  secrets  so  as  to  use  these  against  them, — 
all  these  acts  are  base,  black,  and  shameful.  One  claims  no 
merit  for  not  appropriating  another's  property;  but  theft, 
on  the  contrary,  is  utterly  contemptible.  To  grow  weak  in 
adversity,  to  recoil  from  death,  not  to  brave  the  ice  of  the 
north  pole,  to  remain  at  home  when  our  brethren  are  in 
danger  from  fire  or  flood,  are,  or  may  be,  ordinary  or  common- 
place actions,  but  they  are  not  always  criminal.  I  will  add, 
however,  that  there  are  cases  in  which  heroism  is  obligatory ; 
when  it  would  be  criminal  not  to  be  sublime.  The  captain 
who  has  brought  his  ship  into  danger,  and  does  not  remain  at 
his  post  to  save  it ;  the  general  who  is  not  willing  to  die,  if 
need  be,  at  the  head  of  his  army ;  the  head  of  a  state  who,  in 
a  time  of  revolt,  or  when  his  country  is  menaced,  fears 
death ;  the  president  of  an  assembly  who  flees  before  a  riot ; 
the  physician  who  runs  away  from  an  epidemic  ;  the  magis- 
trate who  betrays  justice  from  fear  —  all  these  commit  truly 
guilty  acts.     Each  condition  has  its  proper  heroism,  which 


454  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

in  certain  cases  becomes  obligatory.  Nevertheless,  it  is  cor- 
rect to  say  in  general,  that,  the  easier  it  is  to  perform  an 
action,  the  less  should  one  be  excused  from  it,  and  conse- 
quently the  more  odious  is  it  to  refuse  it. 

The  question  of  merit  and  demerit  naturally  leads  to  that 
of  moral  sanctions. 

By  the  sanctions  of  a  law  are  generally  meant  all  the  re-* 
wards  or  penalties  attached  to  the  fulfilment  or  the  violation 
of  the  law.  Civil  laws  have  usually  only  penalties,  which, 
indeed,  appear  to  be  a  sufficient  means  to  insure  obedience. 
In  education,  on  the  contrary,  the  commands  or  orders  issued 
by  the  superior,  require  rewards  as  well  as  punishments  in 
order  to  gain  obedience. 

It  can  easily  be  demonstrated,  that  a  law,  unaccompanied 
by  any  sanction,  is  inoperative.  A  command  which  is  not 
accompanied  by  the  power  to  compel  obedience  is  no  longer 
an  order  :  it  is  counsel.  If  the  civil  law  were  to  be  sudden- 
ly deprived  of  all  sanctions,  it  would  necessarily  lose  the 
character  of  a  preceptive  law,  and  would  be  only  indicative. 
The  legislator  would  inform  the  citizens  (who  have  neither 
the  time  nor  the  means  at  command  for  this  study),  that  a 
certain  law  seemed  to  him  the  most  wise  and  just  way  by 
which  to  regulate  certain  interests.  If  men  were  wise,  such 
an  indication  would  undoubtedly  be  sufficient.  But  men 
are  not  wise ;  and,  as  their  passions  clash  with  their  interests,  it 
is  necessary  that  force  should  be  called  in  to  the  aid  of  reason. 

Thus  laws  are  made  because  men  are  not  wise ;  for  even 
those  who  make  the  law,  and  who  are  held  to  be  capable  of 
discovering  what  is  best  in  abstracto,  are  practically  as  much 
tempted  to  violate  it  as  are  other  men.  Hence  it  follows, 
that,  as  man  is  always  tempted  by  his  special  or  actual  in- 
terest, he  must  be  constrained  by  some  penalty,  or  (accident- 
ally) induced  by  some  reward,  to  obey  it.  Otherwise,  the  law 
lacks  efficacy :  it  is  no  longer  an  order ;  I  repeat,  it  is  a  counsel.1 

1  In  proportion  as  men  become  enlightened,  many  laws  pass  from  com- 
mands to  counsels.  Customs  take  the  place  of  penalties.  In  the  ideal  state, 
this  would  be  the  case  with  all.    This  is  the  ideal  of  Plato  in  his  Republic. 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  455 

If  we  accept  this  definition  of  the  term  sanction,  can  the 
same  idea  be  applied  to  morals?  To  any  one  who  examines 
carefully  the  nature  of  this  law,  such  an  application  would 
seem  contradictory. 

The  peculiar  feature  of  the  moral  law  is,  that  it  demands 
obedience  "  from  respect  for  the  law ; "  and  this  is  what  is 
called  duty.  To  obey  the  law  from  any  other  motive  is,  in 
a  sense,  to  violate  the  law.  From  a  moral  point  of  view, 
the  material  fulfilment  of  the  law  is  of  no  value.  It 
must  be  obeyed  in  the  spirit,  that  is  to  say  intrinsically, 
because  it  is  the  law.  It  is  the  moral  intention  which  con- 
stitutes morality.  Now,  no  sanction  can  compel  the  agent 
to  have  this  moral  intention :  on  the  contrary,  it  cannot  but 
impair  this  intention.  If  I  obey  the  law  for  the  sake  of  the 
reward  I  hope  for,  or  the  punishment  I  fear,  then  I  no  longer 
obey  it  for  its  own  sake.  If,  however,  I  ought  to  fulfil  it 
solely  for  its  own  sake,  it  is  useless,  and  even  dangerous, 
to  add  any  other  motive  besides  this  to  the  prescription  of 
the  law.  Thus,  a  sanction  seems  to  be  of  use  only  when 
material  obedience  to  the  law  is  in  question ;  for  in  this  case 
the  important  thing  is  the  effect,  not  the  motive.  But  when 
it  is  the  motive  for  obedience  which  is  most  essential,  then 
to  add  another,  in  order  to  render  the  first  efficacious,  is  a 
contradiction  of  terms. 

Thus  it  is  but  a  gross  conception  of  moral  sanctions,  to 
regard  them  as  modelled  upon  the  legal  sanctions  which  we 
encounter  in  our  experience  of  civil  life.  This  view  is  the 
result  of  a  system  which  represents  the  moral  world  as 
being,  like  the  political  world,  subject  to  rules  and  prohibi- 
tions emanating  from  a  sovereign  and  absolute  power.  It  is 
the  sublimated  idea  of  force.  It  is  said,  that,  without  re- 
wards and  penalties,  the  law  will  be  ineffectual.  I  reply; 
It  will  be  what  it  will  be ;  but  if,  to  make  it  efficacious,  you 
annihilate  it,  what  will  you  have  gained  ? 

Is  this  equivalent  to  denying  that  the  moral  law  has  any 
sanctions?     No,  certainly  not.     But  a  truly  moral  sanction 


456  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

must  be  conceived  as  different  from  a  legal  sanction,  and  not 
be  confounded  with  this. 

The  natural  belief  of  men  in  a  moral  sanction  rests  upon 
the  idea  of  justice,  and  particularly  of  that  kind  of  justice 
which  is  called  distributive.  The  very  exact  formula  of 
justice  given  by  the  ancients  was  this:  Suum  cuique ;  give 
to  each  his  own.  But  the  suum  cuique  may  be  understood 
in  two  senses,  which  Aristotle  has  clearly  distinguished.  In 
one  sense,  the  suum  is  absolute ;  that  is,  it  is  determined  in  a 
definite  way,  independently  of  the  person.  For  instance, 
life  has  an  absolute  value,  no  matter  what  man  is  in  ques- 
tion —  whether  he  is  rich,  poor,  distinguished,  a  minister  of 
state,  or  a  workman.  All,  in  so  far  as  they  are  men,  have 
the  same  right  to  life :  it  is  as  great  a  good  for  one  as  for 
another.  The  same  is  true  of  property.  Whatever  belongs 
especially  to  one  person,  belongs  to  him  absolutely,  whether 
he  is  honest  or  dishonest,  good  or  bad,  rich  or  poor,  etc. 
The  object  of  the  justice  called  commutative  is,  to  secure  to 
each  man  what  is  his  own  in  this  first  sense.  From  the 
stand-point  of  this  kind  of  justice,  it  may  be  said  that  all 
men  are  equal.  With  distributive  justice,  the  case  is  differ- 
ent. Here  the  suum  is  proportionate  to  the  value  of  the  in- 
dividual :  it  varies  with  his  vicissitudes  and  transformations. 
Hence  the  suum  is  no  longer  absolute,  but  is  relative  and 
proportional.  You  owe  most  to  him  who  does  most.  To 
him  who  shows  more  physical  strength,  who  is  more  labori- 
ous, has  more  intelligence,  more  skill  —  in  a  word,  to  him 
who  renders  greater  services  —  you  are  indebted  in  propor- 
tion to  what  he  does.  The  formula  of  this  kind  of  justice 
has  been  very  well  expressed  by  a  modern  school :  "  Render 
to  each  according  to  his  capacity,  and  to  each  capacity 
according  to  its  works." 

But  two  distinct  elements  enter  into  this  latter  formula ; 
for  capacity  represents  that  part  of  each  of  us  which  belongs 
to  nature,  while  works  represent  that  which  comes  from  our- 
. selves  —  from  our  own  efforts,  our  own  will.     The  first  of 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  457 

these  two  elements  does  not  seem  to  belong  to  us  so  entirely 
as  the  second.  Yet  we  see,  in  the  first  place,  that  true 
capacity  cannot  be  developed  without  a  personal  effort;  so 
that  it  is  in  itself  a  guaranty  of  labor  and  of  will.  In  the 
second  place,  to  make  a  thing  our  own,  it  is  not  essential 
that  it  should  be  the  product  of  our  will.  For  instance,  our 
bodies  are  our  own,  though  they  are  not  the  product  of  our 
wills.  They  do  not  belong  to  our  parents,  though  they  are 
the  product  of  their  wills.  Hence  it  follows  that  capacity, 
when  employed  in  the  service  of  another,  is  entitled  to  a 
remuneration  proportioned  to  the  use  which  is  made  of  it  : 
and  I  have  no  more  right  to  make  use  of  another  person's 
physical  strength,  or  capacity,  without  compensation,  than  I 
have  to  borrow  his  money,  and  not  restore  it. 

But  it  is  especially  when  I  take  into  consideration  per- 
sonal and  voluntary  effort — good  will  —  that  it  seems  to  me 
just  to  proportion  the  reward  of  each  to  his  merit.  If, 
indeed,  we  have  in  question  an  unfruitful  good  will,  a  labor 
which  is  not  aided  by  capacity,  I  shall  esteem  it  less  highly, 
or  rather  I  shall  remunerate  it  less,  than  capacity  which 
makes  less  effort,  and  does  less  work ;  because  here  there  is 
question  of  trade,  and  every  trade,  or  transaction,  implies  the 
exchange  of  something.  Now,  we  cannot  give  in  exchange 
an  interior  state  of  the  soul,  but  only  the  products  of  this. 
If  I  engage  workmen  to  build  a  wall  for  me,  I  can  pay  only 
those  who  build  a  wall,  not  one  who  has  a  good  will  to  do 
so,  but  does  not  do  it.  I  cannot  build  a  house  with  the  good 
will  of  other  people.  Hence  it  is  that  good  will,  or  pure 
and  simple  effort,  is  worth  nothing  in  the  market  so  long  as 
it  produces  no  effects.  But  neither  should  I  pay  for  capacity 
or  strength  unaccompanied  by  will  and  effort ;  and,  when  the 
capacities  are  equal,  I  pay  in  proportion  to  the  work  accom- 
plished —  that  is  to  say,  in  proportion  to  the  effort.  In  this 
case,  I  pay  for  good  will,  not  for  capacity  alone.  The  same 
is  true  in  intellectual  and  moral  affairs.  Talent,  genius, 
aptitude  for  business,  courage,  etc.  —  all  these  natural  quali- 


458  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

ties,  perfected  and  applied  by  the  will,  are,  or  should  be 
(according  to  the  ideal  of  distributive  justice,  which,  it  must 
be  confessed,  is  not  always  the  justice  administered  in  this 
world),  rewarded  according  to  their  works.  Hence  comes 
a  certain  social  inequality,  which  those  brutish  levellers,  who 
confound  the  two  kinds  of  justice,  seek  to  destroy. 

The  question  which  now  arises  is  this :  Is  the  interior 
act,  or  the  free  effort  by  which  man  strives  to  fulfil  the 
moral  law,  and  does  actually  fulfil  it,  whatever  else  may  be 
the  exterior  result  of  this  effort  —  is  this  act,  I  ask,  deprived 
of  the  right  belonging  to  all  efforts  and  all  exertions  of 
activity  —  that  of  obtaining  a  reward  proportionate  to  the 
force  exerted?  If  the  natural  faculties  themselves  have, 
even  without  effort,  a  right  to  some  reward,  does  not  the  free 
effort  of  virtue  demand,  as  its  natural  and  legitimate  com- 
plement, a  definite  recompense?  and  although  this  effort, 
considered  in  itself,  may  not  be  useful  to  men,  and  therefore 
may  not  be  rewarded  by  them  (though  it  is  by  their  esteem), 
does  it  follow  that  it  can  have  no  reward,  and  that  distribu- 
tive justice  does  not  apply  to  this  case  ? 

It  will  not  do  to  attempt  to  forestall  our  conclusions  by 
replying  that  virtue  carries  its  recompense  within  itself,  in 
the  joys  of  conscience :  this  would  be  granting  the  very 
thing  that  we  require.  It  is  not  necessary  at  present  that 
we  should  know  in  what  the  moral  sanction  consists,  but 
only  whether  there  is,  and  should  be,  any  at  all.  I  shall 
inquire  presently  whether  this  is  internal  or  external,  terres- 
trial or  divine. 

Now,  let  us  for  a  moment  imagine  virtue,  deprived  not 
only  of  future  recompense  and  of  all  advantages  in  the 
present  life,  such  as  the  esteem  of  men ;  but  let  us  imagine 
—  to  go  beyond  the  celebrated  figure  of  the  just  man  cruci- 
fied which  Plato  depicts  in  his  Republic  —  let  us  imagine,  I 
say,  that  virtue  has  not  even  any  interior  joy,  and  is  conse- 
quently destitute  of  any  kind  of  actual  or  future  pleasure, 
and  let  us  inquire  whether  such  a  conception  will  satisfy  the 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  459 

idea  of  justice  which  is  implanted  within  us,  and  which 
should  serve  as  the  rule  of  our  lives.  Those  who  despise 
all  rewards  as  being  unnecessary  to  virtue,  do  not  perceive 
that  they  speak  thus,  precisely  because  the  interior  delights 
of  virtue  are  amply  sufficient  for  their  reward.1  They  cer- 
tainly make  a  good  choice,  and  take  the  prize  which  has  the 
highest  value.  But  they  are  wrong  in  supposing  that  they 
thus  make  all  sanctions  unnecessary;  for  this  joy  itself  is 
the  sanction,  at  least  for  them.  However  this  may  be,  the 
idea  of  bare  virtue,  absolutely  deprived  of  all  pleasure  (in- 
trinsic or  extrinsic),  is  an  idea,  which,  though  it  does  not 
involve  a  contradiction,2  seems,  nevertheless,  absolutely  con- 
trary to  justice,  and  is  certainly  opposed  to  all  human 
instincts.  But  we  must  analyze  this  conception  more  thor- 
oughly. 

If  we  consider  man  anterior  to  all  moral  law,  and  inde- 
pendently of  it,  we  shall  find  in  him,  as  in  all  sensitive 
beings,  an  irresistible  instinct  impelling  him  toward  a  cer- 
tain object,  which  all  men  call  happiness.  In  this  instinct 
we  distinguish  two  elements,  which  Malebranche  has  called 
the  love  of  being,  and  the  love  of  well-being.  We  desire  to 
preserve  ourselves,  and  to  grow  physically  and  morally  — 
like  the  plants,  which  yet  have  no  feeling.  We  delight  in 
exercising  and  developing  our  powers,  though  not  knowing 
whether  this  development  may  not  be  accompanied  by  pain. 
This  is  the  love  of  being.  Furthermore,  we  seek  for  pleas- 
ure, and  avoid  pain  :  this  is  the  love  of  well-being.  In  real- 
ity, these  two  elements  are  not  so  distinct  as  they  appear  to 
be ;  for  being  —  that  is  to  say,  all  development  of  activity  — 
is  accompanied  by  pleasure ;  and  well-being  —  that  is  to  say, 

1  Often,  indeed,  this  is  the  pride  of  virtue,  and  the  pleasure  of  despising 
other  men,  which  is  the  grossest  form  of  moral  satisfaction. 

2  Kant  justly  remarks  (Crit.  of  Prac.  Reason),  that  the  connection  between 
virtue  and  happiness  is  not  analytical,  hut  synthetical.  We  know  what  he 
means  by  this.  He  criticises  the  Epicureans  and  the  Stoics  for  having  both 
confounded  (though  inversely)  these  two  conceptions.  Perhaps  this  is  not 
altogether  just,  so  far  as  the  second  are  concerned. 


460  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

pleasure  —  is  always  the  result  of  a  definite  development  of 
activity. 

Now,  it  is  certain  that  the  moral  law  forbids  us  to  seek  for 
happiness,  and  even  commands  us  to  restrain  the  instincts 
which  impel  us  toward  it.  It  will  not  do  to  say  that  it  for- 
bids us  to  seek  a  false  happiness  in  order  that  we  may  attain 
one  that  is  real,  for  this  is  precisely  the  point  in  question  — 
the  very  thing  that  I  desire  to  prove.  It  is  certainly  true, 
that  the  moral  law,  taken  in  itself,  contains  no  promise  of 
happiness.  It  issues  commands  as  though  nothing  of  the 
sort  were  to  be  expected,  and  even  as  though  it  were  uncon- 
scious of  the  existence  of  such  a  thing.  Hence  it  is  a  law 
of  sacrifice.  Now,  if  the  essential  nature  of  the  law  requires 
that  the  moral  agent,  at  the  moment  of  fulfilling  it,  must 
not  think  of  happiness  —  that  he  ought  utterly  to  banish  the 
idea ;  if  the  moral  agent  can,  and  perhaps  should,  go  so  far 
as  to  say,  "  Even  if  the  law  required  my  absolute  unhappi- 
ness,  yet  I  ought  to  obey  it  "  —  even,  I  say,  if  we  go  to  this 
extremity,  yet  the  impartial  spectator  would  still  be  entitled 
to  ask,  if  a  law  which  carries  constraint  so  far  as  to  demand 
the  annihilation  of  the  Ego  and  of  the  individual,  could  be 
a  legitimate  law.     Can  a  law  that  is  cruel  be  just  ? 

But,  it  is  replied,  since  the  moral  law  requires  the  utter 
sacrifice  of  the  desire  for  happiness,  is  it  not  clear  that  one 
who  fulfils  it  will  have  destroyed,  and  torn  up  by  the  roots, 
all  his  desire  for  happiness?  He  will  have  become  indiffer- 
ent to  his  own  happiness,  and  therefore  will  feel  no  pain  in 
sacrificing  it.  If  he  suffers,  it  is  because  he  has  not  per- 
fectly fulfilled  the  law.  When  he  has  attained  moral  perfec- 
tion, and  every  exclusive  element  in  his  love  of  himself  has 
been  destroyed,  then  the  contradiction  of  which  you  speak 
will  no  longer  exist.  Thus  it  is  not  the  law  which  is  cruel, 
but  the  individual  who  does  not  fulfil  it  to  the  uttermost  is 
cruel  to  himself. 

To  this  theory  I  raise  the . following  objections:  1.  Such 
a  sacrifice  is  impossible  for  man,  as  he  is  known  to  us ;  2.  It 


MERIT  AND   DEMERIT.  461 

is  illegitimate  ;  3.  If  it  were  possible  and  legitimate,  it  would 
be  happiness ;  that  is,  the  very  thing  we  are  in  search  of. 

1.  The  absolute  sacrifice  of  all  desire  for  happiness  —  that 
is,  of  all  sensibility,  even  moral  —  is  a  pure  chimera.  Such  a 
requisition  can  be  made  only  of  some  being  unknown  to  us, 
not  of  man  such  as  he  actually  is.  The  law  can  command 
me  to  pay  no  attention  to  my  desire  for  happiness,  but  not 
to  destroy  it ;  for  that  would  be  impossible.  It  always  sur- 
vives, whatever  one  may  do.  Would  not  a  law  which 
should  command  us  to  pay  no  attention  to  this,  and  to  tram- 
ple under  foot  the  most  deeply  rooted  and  indestructible  of 
all  our  inclinations,  be  a  cruel,  and  even  an  unreasonable, 
law  ?  For  how  could  an  ideal  law  be  in  contradiction  with 
the  very  nature  of  the  being  to  whom  it  applies  ?  The 
accusation  of  cruelty,  so  often  brought  against  God  and 
Providence,  would  be  equally  just  as  against  the  moral  law. 
It  is  undoubtedly  a  fine  thing  to  say,  with  a  modern  moralist: 
"  What  matter  if  a  man  is  unhappy,  if  he  is  but  great ! " 
But  it  is  fine  only  if  we  take  the  term  "unhappy"  in  its 
common  meaning:  for,  in  reality,  one  who  is  great,  and  is 
conscious  of  being  so,  is  not  unhappy,  since  this  conscious- 
ness amply  compensates  him  for  what  he  lacks  in  other  ways. 

2.  The  destruction  of  the  desire  for  happiness  is  possible, 
only  upon  the  condition  of  the  utter  destruction  of  sensibility. 
Now,  this  is  a  thing  which  morality  cannot  command,  but 
which  it  even  condemns.  How  can  one  become  indifferent 
to  pleasure  and  to  pain  unless  one  first  becomes  indifferent  to 
the  affections,  as  well  as  to  the  inclinations  of  the  senses? 
One  would  need  to  annihilate  all  one's  affections,  and  say, 
with  Epictetus,  "Your  son  is  dead?  You  have  given  him 
back.  Your  wife  is  dead  ?  You  have  given  her  back.  Your 
field  is  taken  from  you  ?  You  have  given  it  back."  *  These 
words  are  admirable  if  they  express  the  firmness  with  which 
one  should  bear  misfortune :    they  would  be  odious  if  they 

1  The  conjunction  of  these  three  objects  is  a  further  proof  of  insensibility 
—  a  son,  a  wife,  a  field. 


462  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

implied  a  real  and  absolute  insensibility.  Plato,  also,  says 
somewhere,  that  the  wise  man  is  sufficient  to  himself,  and 
that  the  loss  of  all  that  is  dearest  to  him  will  not  be  to  him 
an  intolerable  misfortune ;  but  he  is  careful  to  explain,  that 
he  does  not  recommend  an  impossible  insensibility,  but  only  a 
noble  patience,  and  a  certain  moderation  when  in  the  sight  of 
men.  Indifference  to  our  own  pain  is  also  indifference  to  the 
happiness  of  others.  The  formula  of  the  moral  law  would 
then  be  :  What  does  it  matter  to  me,  not  only  if  I  suffer,  but 
even  if  others  suffer,  provided  that  I  am  not  the  cause  of  it, 
and  that  I  have  done  every  thing  in  my  power  to  comfort 
them  ?  This  refusal  of  all  sympathy,  provided  that  one  has 
fulfilled  the  requirements  of  the  law,  is  a  travesty  of  the  law, 
not  its  true  formula.  Otherwise,  a  man  who  had  passed  his 
life  in  the  effort  to  insure  his  children  a  livelihood,  though 
he  were  unsuccessful,  might  say,  in  dying ;  "  I  leave  my  chil- 
dren in  want ;  but  what  does  it  matter?  I  have  accomplished 
my  task :  I  have  done  what  I  could." 

The  statesman,  who  had  preserved  his  country,  but  who 
foresaw  that  it  would  go  to  destruction  after  his  death,  might 
say :  "  I  leave  my  country  a  prey  to  anarchy  and  slavery ;  but 
what  does  it  matter  ?  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  save  it." 
No  !  These  two  men  would  not  have  fulfilled  all  the  law : 
they  would  still  have  one  more  moral  act  to  perform.  It 
would  be  their  duty  to  die  deploring  the  evils  which  they 
could  not  prevent.1  They  would  owe  it  to  themselves  to  die 
unhappy. 

3.  Even  on  the  supposition  that  the  destruction  of  all  sen- 
sibility, and  all  desire  of  happiness,  were  legitimate  and  possi- 
ble (either  here  or  elsewhere),  I  say,  that,  in  that  case,  this 
itself  would  be  happiness.  This  is  not  a  mere  verbal  quibble, 
as  one  might  suppose.    It  is  the  literal  truth.    Happiness,  and 

1  It  is  said  that  Charlemagne  wept,  foreseeing  the  incursions  of  the  Nor- 
mans. Is  he  not  morally  greater  thus,  than  if  he  had  seen  with  dry  eyes  the 
future  fate  of  his  empire  ?  After  me  the  deluge,  is  a  shameful  sentiment  if  it  is 
uttered  by  the  feeble  cowardice  which  resigns  itself  to  fate;  but,  if  less  culpable 
when  pronounced  with  indifference  by  virtue,  it  is  not  guiltless,  even  then. 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  463 

even  pleasure,  may  be  defined,  either  positively,  as  being  a 
certain  state  of  definite  sensibility,  or  negatively,  as  being 
the  absence  of  their  opposite.  Every  one  knows  that  the 
great  apostle  of  voluptuousness,  Epicurus,  defined  pleasure 
as  being  the  absence  of  pain  (indolentia) .  Now,  even  sup- 
posing that  there  were  no  other  positive  happiness,  it  would 
still  be  happiness  to  be  without  suffering.  What  men  call 
peace,  quietude,  is  simply  a  passive  happiness  of  this  sort. 
Let  us  grant  that  the  moral  law  orders  us  to  sacrifice  all  our 
inclinations,  even  that  for  happiness  (supposing  that  this  were 
possible)  ;  yet,  even  by  doing  so,  it  would  offer  us  a  sort  of 
ideal  of  happiness,  saying  to  us,  for  instance ;  "  Triumph  over 
all  your  instincts,  no  matter  what  it  costs  you.  The  more 
completely  you  stifle  them,  the  less  they  will  resist ;  and  if,  at 
last,  you  succeed  in  extinguishing  them  entirely,  it  will  no 
longer  cost  you  any  thing,  and  you  will  enjoy  the  victory." 
Thus,  according  to  this  doctrine,  ideal  virtue,  or  holiness, 
would  be  both  the  aim  and  the  recompense  of  real  virtue  — 
that  which  struggles  against  the  inclinations.  Thus  the 
moral  law  would  bear  within  itself  its  sanction,  and  this 
sanction  would  be  the  inevitable  result  of  its  fulfilment.  We 
might,  therefore,  say,  with  Spinoza ;  "  Beatitude  is  not  the 
reward  of  virtue,  but  is  virtue  itself." 

Thus  we  see  that  virtue,  separated  from  all  hope  of  happi- 
ness, is  an  injustice  if  sensibility  is  indestructible,  and  a 
contradiction  if  it  is  not  so. 

It  is,  therefore,  plain  that  the  moral  law  should  have  its 
sanction,  which  certainly  is  not,  like  a  legal  sanction,  a  means 
by  which  to  secure  the  fulfilment  of  the  law,  but  is  a  conse- 
quence of  the  law  of  justice.  We  shall  also  see,  that,  if  the 
moral  law  were  destitute  of  such  a  sanction,  it  would  thereby 
become  inefficacious.  For  an  unjust  law  which  should  com- 
mand justice  would  contradict  itself,  and  a  law  which  contra- 
dicts itself  is  no  law. 

It  would  be  a  contradiction  if  man  were  required  to  be 
just,  yet  at  the  same  time  were  not  to  receive  justice.     In- 


464  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

deed,  if  there  were  no  moral  being  from  whom  the  law  of 
justice  emanates,  it  would  be  difficult  to  tell  where  man 
could  lay  the  blame  if  the  law  of  justice  were  not  applied 
to  him.  The  nature  of  things  is  blind  and  deaf:  how  could 
it  be  just,  since  it  does  not  even  know  what  that  means  ?  As 
to  the  moral  law  itself,  it  is  only  a  thought :  now,  how  can 
I  require  my  thought  to  be  just?  Would  not  that  be  an 
absurd  demand?  Does  not  Plato  say  that  justice  cannot  be 
just,  grandeur  great,  etc.  ?  Certainly :  yet,  if  justice  cannot 
be  just,  the  law  can  be  so ;  and  an  unjust  law  has  no  right 
by  which  to  command  justice.  A  law  which  should  com- 
mand me  to  sacrifice  my  happiness  utterly,  would  order  me 
to  do  to  myself  what  it  would  forbid  me  to  do  to  any  one 
else.  If  my  happiness  is  a  matter  of  indifference,  I  do  not 
see  why  the  happiness  of  others  should  not  also  be  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  me.  Thus,  again,  the  law  would  destroy 
itself. 

It  is,  then,  impossible  not  to  conceive  the  existence  of 
a  necessary  bond  between  virtue  and  happiness;  and  the 
moral  law  evidently  has  a  sanction.  From  what  has  already 
been  said,  this  sanction  may  be  thus  defined :  the  duty  of  the 
law  toward  the  agent ;  or,  the  recourse  of  the  agent  against  the 
law.  And  since  one  cannot  conceive  a  law  as  having  duties, 
or  an  agent  as  having  recourse  against  a  law,  this  very  idea 
of  justice,  as  Kant  has  shown,  involves  the  necessity  of  trans- 
forming an  abstract  law  into  a  living  type,  and  of  conceiving 
it  as  embodied  in  a  sovereign  legislator  or  sovereign  judge. 
Thus  the  existence  of  a  moral  law  is  one  of  the  strongest 
arguments  for  the  existence  of  God. 

What,  then,  are  the  results  of  the  preceding  principles  ? 

We  have  just  seen  that  moral  sanction  differs  widely  from 
legal  sanction.  The  special  object  of  the  latter  is,  to  insure 
the  fulfilment  and  efficacy  of  the  law :  the  former  is,  on  the 
contrary,  the  natural  consequence  involved  in  the  very 
fulfilment  of  the  law.  In  civil  law,  the  sanction  is  exterior 
to  the  law :  in  moral  law,  it  is  interior  and  essential  to  it. 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  465 

It  is,  therefore,  altogether  erroneous  to  imagine  virtue 
on  the  one  hand,  and  sanction  on  the  other,  as  being  two 
distinct  things ;  to  believe  that  happiness  is  a  combination 
of  satisfactions  and  enjoyments  which  are  added  to  virtue 
as  a  sort  of  reward.  Were  it  so,  morality  would  become  a 
kind  of  trade,  in  which  one  would  offer  to  God  the  sacrifice 
of  one's  inclinations,  but  with  the  distinct  understanding 
that  he  was  to  render  an  equivalent  return.  Virtue  would 
then  be  a  putting  out  at  interest.  God  would  be  a  kind  of 
debtor,  and  we  should  be  his  creditors.  Those  who  had 
confidence  in  him  would  make  advances  without  keeping 
an  account :  those  who  had  not,  would  feel  that  they  would 
do  well  to  take  precautions.  Bold  players  would  take  a  risk, 
attracted  by  the  enormous  stake,  and  made  quite  easy,  more- 
over, by  the  small  value  of  what  they  hazarded. 

It  is  with  no  desire  of  undue  disparagement  that  I  repre- 
sent by  this  figure  the  erroneous  ideas  which  men  generally 
have  as  to  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  Pascal  himself,  the 
great  Pascal,  presented  the  moral  problem  in  this  coarse  and 
brutal  form:  Eternity  to  gain  —  there  is  the  prize;  life  and 
its  pleasures  to  sacrifice  —  there  is  the  stake.  An  infini- 
tesimal stake  for  an  infinite  prize ;  every  thing  to  gain, 
almost  nothing  to  lose.  One  might  well  play  such  a  game. 
You  toss  up  for  God.  What  a  religion  !  What  piety !  How 
much  higher  an  idea  of  God  was  held  by  poor  Epictetus,  in 
spite  of  the  contempt  which  Pascal  thought  it  right  contin- 
ually to  heap  upon  him ! 

Kant  himself,  notwithstanding  his  lofty  morality,  seems 
to  me  to  have  entertained  erroneous  ideas  upon  this  subject. 
He  imagines  happiness  to  be  something  distinct  from  virtue. 
He  criticises  the  Epicureans  for  having  regarded  the  sover- 
eign good  as  consisting  in  happiness  alone,  and  the  Stoics 
for  considering  it  as  being  virtue  alone.  He  believes  that 
the  sovereign  good  consists  in  the  union  of  the  two  things  — 
in  the  harmony  of  virtue  and  happiness.  He  says,  that,  as 
the  mechanism  of  nature  was  not  constructed  with  a  view 


466  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

to  the  moral  agent,  man  cannot  find  here  below  the  happi- 
ness which  he  deserves.  He  believes  in  the  necessity  of  the 
existence  of  a  judge  who  will  re-establish  the  equilibrium ; 
and  he  seems  to  think  that  this  judge  will  have  prepared 
somewhere  else  another  mechanism,  another  natural  order, 
which  will  be  the  recompense  for  actual  virtue.  Thus  it  is 
man's  business  to  furnish  the  virtue,  and  God  will  add  hap- 
piness to  it  as  a  reward. 

All  these  ideas  may  unquestionably  be  understood  in  a 
right  sense ;  but,  if  taken  literally,  they  tend  to  impair  the 
purity  of  the  moral  principle.  Virtue  will  cease  to  be  any 
thing  but  a  means  of  gaining  happiness.  The  future  life 
will  always  remain  a  sort  of  greased  pole,  whose  crowns, 
suspended  before  our  eyes,  lure  us  on,  and  reward  us  for  the 
labor  of  being  good. 

For  myself,  I  unhesitatingly  accept  the  Stoical  maxim  : 
Virtue  is  its  own  reward.  I  do  not  say  with  Kant:  "Virtue 
is  worthy  of  happiness,"  but  —  it  is  happiness.  So,  too,  I  say 
with  Spinoza :  "  Beatitude  is  not  the  recompense  of  virtue  — 
it  is  virtue  itself." 

Can  one  imagine  a  being  who  has  raised  himself  to  the 
utmost  excellence  of  which  he  is  capable,  and  who  needs 
to  be  rewarded  for  doing  so  —  as  though  the  enjoyment  of 
that  excellence  were  not  already  true  happiness,  and  as  if 
there  could  be  any  other  happiness  than  that?  Can  one 
imagine  a  geometrical  triangle,  hypothetically  endowed  with 
consciousness  and  liberty,  which,  having  succeeded  in  dis- 
engaging its  pure  essence  from  the  conflict  with  material 
things  which  tend  on  every  hand  to  violate  its  nature,  could 
still  need  to  receive  from  exterior  things  a  reward  for  having 
freed  itself  from  th'eir  dominion?  Can  one  conceive  that 
virtue,  which  is  an  absolutely  interior  act,  could  need  to 
receive  from  without  something  which  could  add  to  its 
beauty  and  its  value  ?  No :  there  is  no  other  happiness  for 
man  to  dream  of  than  his  own  excellence.  To  find  again 
his  true  being,  to  free  it  from  all  which  wounds,  stains,  and 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  467 

oppresses  it — that  is  happiness,  that  is  virtue,  that  is 
eternity. 

The  future  life  should  not,  then,  be  represented  as  a  rec- 
ompense, but  as  a  deliverance.  Religion  calls  it  by  an 
admirable  name  —  salvation.  In  the  actual  conditions  of  our 
life,  the  soul  is  subject  to  physical  and  mechanical  laws 
which  prevent  it  from  attaining  the  perfect  purity  of  which 
it  dreams,  and  from  enjoying  its  true  dignity  and  its  ac- 
quired excellence.  The  joys  of  conscience  are  often  unable 
to  console  us  for  the  blows  of  destiny.  The  earth  is  a  vale 
of  tears  as  well  as  a  battle-field.  Grief  bends  down  the 
strongest,  and  woe  to  him  who  has  not  wept !  Virtue  sub- 
mits to  these  conditions,  and  accepts  them,  even  joyfully: 
but  she  has  a  right  to  deliverance ;  it  is  her  reward. 

The  Orient  had  an  admirable  feeling  for  this  truth,  con- 
sidering, as  the  greatest  evil  man  could  endure,  the  indefinite 
renewal  of  birth  —  that  is  to  say,  repeated  returns  to  the 
same  conditions  of  constraint  and  oppression,  which  prevent 
man  from  attaining  to  his  true  essence.  The  Nirvana  of  the 
Buddhists  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  doctrine  of  annihilation; 
but  it  is  the  being  disengaged  from  all  the  conditions  of  phe- 
nomenal, and  the  assured  enjoyment  of  absolute,  existence. 

But  how  can  we  feel  assured  of  this  future  existence? 
What  guaranty  have  we  for  it?  And,  if  we  do  not  admit 
the  necessity  for  a  future  recompense,  upon  what  argument 
shall  we  base  belief  in  the  persistence,  the  permanence,  of 
our  being  ? 

This  objection  does  not  touch  my  theory.  The  argument 
drawn  from  divine  justice  remains  perfectly  intact.  I  only 
modify  its  form.  I  do  not  say,  Virtue  is  entitled  to  a  recom- 
pense ;  but  I  say,  Virtue  is  entitled  to  itself.  The  man  who, 
during  his  whole  life,  has  striven  to  attain  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible to  the  ideal  which  he  has  conceived  of  dignity,  truth, 
and  purity,  but  who  has  never  been  able  to  reach  it,  because 
limited,  oppressed,  and  opposed  by  external  causes  —  that 
man  has  a  right  to  the  ideal  which  he  has  endeavored  to 


468  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

realize,  though  in  vain.  The  reward  of  virtue,  as  I  have 
already  said,  is  virtue  itself.  Not  that  imperfect  and  strug- 
gling virtue  which  yields  at  every  step,  but  a  virtue  which 
no  longer  yields,  no  longer  totters,  no  longer  suffers.  It  has 
a  right  to  pass  from  the  law  of  constraint  to  the  law  of  love, 
and  from  a  fettered,  to  a  pure,  personality.  In  a  word,  the 
recompense  of  virtue  is  liberty.  The  Catholic  religion 
understood  this  admirably,  when  it  offered  holiness  as  the 
highest  reward  of  virtue. 

Just  as  the  recompense  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  some- 
thing exterior  to  virtue,  so  immortality  does  not  seem  to  be 
something  exterior  to  the  soul,  added  to  it  as  a  supereroga- 
tory gift  by  the  intervention  of  an  arbitrary  will.  We  feel, 
we  know,  that  we  are  eternal.  It  was  in  creating  us,  that 
God  made  us  a  free  gift ;  but  in  creating  us  he  made  us  eter- 
nal, or  at  least  he  left  us  free  to  become  so.  To  be  eternal  is 
to  participate  in  the  absolute  ;  and  whoever  thinks  and  loves, 
thereby  participates  in  the  absolute.  To  think  and  to  love  is 
not  the  same  as  to  feel  sensitively:  it  is  not  by  the  senses 
that  man  thinks,  it  is  not  by  them  that  he  loves.  The  object 
of  love,  the  object  of  reason,  is  the  intelligible  and  the  divine. 
But  how  can  a  man  love  and  think  the  intelligible  and  the 
divine,  if  he  does  not  already  contain  them  within  himself? 
"  The  soul,"  says  Plato,  "  goes  to  that  which  is  eternal  and 
unchangeable,  as  being  itself  of  the  same  nature." 

But,  it  is  said,  this  immortality  of  the  divine  is  merely 
an  impersonal  immortality,  without  consciousness,  without 
memory.  It  is  only  the  eternity  of  God  himself.  I  do  not 
so  understand  it. 

We  should  distinguish  the  personality  and  the  individual- 
ity, which  are  frequently  confounded.  The  individuality  is 
composed  of  all  the  exterior  circumstances  that  distinguish 
one  man  from  another  —  the  circumstances  of  time,  place, 
organization,  etc.  The  individual  has  a  certain  body,  a  cer- 
tain age,  a  certain  face ;  he  lives  in  a  certain  country,  in  a 
certain  time ;  he  performs  certain  functions,  has  had  certain 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  469 

adventures,  has  performed  such  and  such  actions.  Is  it  the 
immortality  of  this  individual  which  is  required  ?  Does  not 
every  one  know  that  one  of  the  essential  elements  of  this 
being  —  that  is,  the  body  —  is  dissolved  and  scattered  by 
death?  And  how  would  you  recognize  him,  without  the 
marks  which  have  characterized  him  in  life?  How  could 
you  recognize  the  soul  of  Csesar,  separated  from  his  body,  de- 
prived of  his  dictatorship,  of  his  armor  as  general,  of  his  wit 
and  of  his  vices  ?  Unless  we  have  recourse  to  theology,  and 
call  in  the  dogma  of  the  resurrection  of  the  body,  it  is  im- 
possible to  admit  the  idea  of  an  individual  immortality,  in 
the  strict  sense  of  the  word.  The  Ego  does  not  perish :  it 
is  this  which  subsists,  not  an  indefinite  substance.  But  this 
immortal  Ego  is  not  the  sensitive  Ego,  scattered  and  lost 
among  things ;  it  is  the  true  Ego,  collected  and  concen- 
trated in  itself ;  it  is  the  person. 

Personality  strikes  its  roots  into  individuality,  but  it  con- 
stantly tends  to  disengage  them.  The  individual  concen- 
trates himself  within  himself:  personality,  on  the  contrary, 
constantly  aspires  to  get  outside  of  itself.  The  ideal  of  in- 
individuality  is  egotism  —  the  whole  reduced  to  the  Ego. 
The  ideal  of  personality  is  self-devotion,  the  Ego  identifying 
itself  with  the  whole.  Personality  is,  in  a  certain  sense, 
the  consciousness  of  the  impersonal.  It  is  not  in  so  far  as  I 
am  capable  of  sensation  —  that  is  to  say,  of  physical  pleasure 
and  pain  —  that  I  am  a  person :  it  is  in  so  far  as  I  think,  I 
love,  and  I  will.  It  is  in  so  far  as  I  think  the  true,  love  the 
good,  and  will  both.  The  inviolable  element  in  other  men 
is  not  the  animal  sensibility,  not  the  mechanical  instinct, 
or  the  vital  functions.  It  is  plainly  not  their  stomachs,  their 
sensuality,  or  their  vices.  It  is  the  spark  of  divinity  which 
is  within  them :  it  is  their  capacity  to  participate,  like  me, 
in  that  which  is  neither  thine  nor  mine ;  in  the  sun  which 
shines  for  all  spirits,  and  all  souls ;  in  truth,  justice,  liberty, 
and  every  thing  that  is  impersonal.  Personality,  I  say,  is 
the  consciousness  of  the  impersonal.     It  is  this  consciousness 


470  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

which  every  man  has  of  the  divine  which  is  immortal,  and 
not  certain  fragile  and  illusory  accidents  which  we  may 
vainly  desire  to  take  with  us. 

The  mystics  understood  clearly  that  it  is  within  the  imper- 
sonal—  that  is,  within  that  which  is  not  ourselves  —  that  the 
life  of  the  spirit  is  perfected.  But  they  were  too  ready  to 
believe  that  this  consummation  of  personality  was  annihila- 
tion, and  consisted  in  the  loss  of  the  true  and  of  conscious- 
ness. This  does  not  take  place :  even  in  this  life,  experience 
assures  us  that  it  is  not  so.  The  scholar  who  has  just  dis- 
covered a  great  truth  forgets  himself,  separates  himself  for  a 
moment  from  his  individuality.  He  does  not  know  in  what 
age  he  lives,  in  what  place  he  dwells :  he  is  absorbed  in  the 
truth  which  he  has  discovered.  Yes ;  but  he  is  conscious  of 
it.  The  artist  who  creates  a  masterpiece,  forgets  himself  in 
the  marvellous  production  of  his  imagination.  Yes;  but  he 
is  conscious  of  it.  He  enjoys  that  which  is  not  himself,  but 
he  knows  that  he  enjoys  it.  The  father  forgets  himself  in 
his  children,  the  friend  in  his  friend,  the  lover  in  his  beloved, 
the  hero  in  his  country,  the  citizen  in  the  ideal  of  liberty 
and  justice  which  he  dreams  of  for  all  men  —  all  forget 
themselves  in  that  which  is  not  themselves ;  but  they  are 
conscious  of  it.  Thus  the  Ego  is  completed  in  the  Non-Ego, 
but  it  is  not  absorbed  nor  lost.  It  is  at  once  within  and  out- 
side of  itself.  It  is  its  own  essence  which  it  regains  when  it 
rises  from  the  exterior  and  carnal  life  to  the  life  of  the  spirit 
—  the  absolute  life. 

Speculative  philosophers,  accustomed  to  pure  thought, 
have  been  too  much  inclined  to  make  the  future  life  consist 
in  the  preservation  of  pure  thought.  This  was  the  doctrine 
of  Aristotle  and  of  Spinoza.  But  these  philosophers  and 
scholars  were  a  little  too  much  disposed  to  conceive  of  the 
divine  life  as  modelled  upon  that  which  they  loved  best  in 
terrestrial  life.  For  a  scientist,  what  can  be  more  beautiful 
than  science  ?  But  what  will  you  do  with  those  who  are  not 
scientists  —  those  who  have  not  cultivated  general  ideas, 


MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.  471 

but  have  cultivated  the  treasures  of  their  simple  and  tender 
hearts  ?  those  who  have  loved  men,  and  done  good  to  them ; 
mothers  who  have  adored  their  children,  and  have  lost  them ; 
those  who  have  devoted  themselves  to  some  person  or  to  some 
thing  without  having  any  theory,  and  who,  with  no  abstract, 
speculative  views,  have  simply  died  in  behalf  of  truth  and 
justice  ?  No :  it  is  not  proved  that  the  heart  is  less  divine 
than  the  mind.  "  The  heart,  too,  has  reasons  which  the  mind 
does  not  understand."  It,  too,  has  its  general  truths :  it,  too, 
is  eternal. 

Eternal  life  is  not,  then,  the  annihilation,  but  the  consum- 
mation, of  personality.  But  here  new  difficulties  and  new 
problems  arise.  Is  it  an  immediate  passage  to  the  absolute 
state  ?  Is  it  the  progressive  development  of  our  being  under 
more  and  more  favorable  conditions  ?  Here  no  solution  is 
possible,  for  we  have  no  experience  to  guide  us.  The  imagi- 
nation is  free  to  picture  this  future  under  whatever  colors  it 
pleases.  It  is  not  thence,  but  from  the  consciousness  of  its 
own  value,  that  the  soul  will  draw  its  real  motives  for  virtue. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

RELIGION. 

SOME  ask  whether  there  can  be  any  morality  without 
religion.  The  question  is  ill  expressed.  It  should  be; 
Can  the  moral,  be  complete  without  the  religious,  life  ?  Ex- 
perience proves  that  men  can  be  just,  honest,  temperate,  and 
sincere,  without  possessing  piety.  But  is  not  the  lack  of 
piety  in  itself  a  lack  of  virtue,  a  diminution  of  the  moral 
being  ?  Should  not  the  moral  life  express  and  contain  the 
entire  man  in  all  his  relations  to  God,  as  well  as  to  men  and 
to  himself?  Cast  into  the  world,  not  knowing  why;  taken 
out  of  the  world,  not  knowing  how  —  can  he  include  his 
whole  being  within  these  two  terms,  birth  and  death,  never 
casting  his  glance  beyond  these  two  shores,  never  fastening 
on  some  firm  anchorag#  within  this  vast  ocean  which  sur- 
rounds him  on  every  side  ?  Doubtless  the  organization  of 
religious  life  may  become  more  and  more  difficult  in  an  age 
of  inquiry  and  criticism  like  the  present  one ; *  but,  if  piety 
has  a  legitimate  and  permanent  foundation  in  human  nature, 
it  will  inevitably  find  means  to  satisfy  itself,  in  one  way  or 
another,  after  many  painful  crises,  such  as  often  occur  when 
the  social  environment  is  not  adapted  to  the  needs  of  the 
soul. 

Thus  the  only  truly  philosophical  inquiry  is,  whether  reli- 
gion is  rooted  in  the  very  nature  of  man,  or  whether  it  is 

1  In  regard  to  this  question,  consult  my  Problemes  du  XIX.  Siecle,  i.  v.,  c.  iii. 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  that,  in  this  chapter,  I  do  not  refer  to  any  special 
form  of  religion,  hut  merely  to  religion  in  general,  in  its  essential  and  human 
elements. 

472 


RELIGION.  473 

but  a  passing  and  ephemeral  state,  destined  to  disappear 
when  a  higher  degree  of  civilization  is  attained.  This  last 
opinion  is  held  by  the  celebrated  school  which  believes  it 
has  discovered  the  fundamental  law  of  human  development. 
This  is  that  law  of  the  three  states  —  theological,  metaphysi- 
cal, and  positive.  According  to  this  school,  as  we  know, 
the  human  soul  begins  by  divining  the  forces  of  nature  or  the 
faculties  of  man,  and  gradually  transforming  them  into  a 
type  of  spirituality  and  infinite  personality,  who  governs  the 
universe  by  his  will,  and  constantly  intervenes  by  supernatu- 
ral action.  The  supernatural  is  the  domain  of  theologians 
and  religions.  But,  when  the  spirit  of  reflection  awakens, 
it,  in  its  turn,  transforms  these  symbols,  these  myths,  and 
anthropomorphic  illusions,  into  metaphysical  abstractions. 
This  is  the  second  stage,  which  is  soon  succeeded  by  a  third, 
—  that  of  positive  ideas,  derived  from  observation  and  expe- 
rience. Mythical  persons,  the  object  of  religion,  and  meta- 
physical entities,  the  object  of  philosophy,  are  succeeded  by 
facts  and  laws,  the  object  of  science.  This  is  the  law  of 
evolution  enunciated  by  the  positivist  school,  according  to 
which  the  religious  idea  and  sentiment  appears,  as  we  see, 
to  be  merely  a  primitive  condition,  a  rudimentary  degree  of 
civilization. 

Even  should  we  accept  the  preceding  law  (and  it'  is  open 
to  many  objections),  it  would  still  be  a  question  whether  this 
is  the  ultimate  law,  and  whether  there  may  not  be  another 
superior  to  it.  For  instance,  whether  there  may  not  be  a  law 
of  return  and  retrogression,  so  that  the  stages  which  were 
once  traversed  in  the  manner  indicated  will  be  again  gone 
over  in  an  inverse  and  reciprocal  direction ;  whether,  having 
arrived  at  this  imagined  point  called  the  positive  state,  the 
human  spirit  does  not  have  a  tendency  to  return  to  the  ante- 
rior condition.  Metaphysics  may  seem  to  be  an  advance  from 
a  childish  and  superstitious  theology  :  the  positive  state  may 
appear  to  be  an  advance  from  a  conjectural  and  none  too 
enlightened  metaphysics,  but  this  does  not  prove  that  the 


474  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

positive  state  itself  will  give  absolute  satisfaction  and  final 
repose.  It  may  chance  —  and  in  my  opinion  this  is  the  true 
law  —  that,  having  arrived  at  the  positive  and  scientific  state, 
reflection,  applying  itself  to  the  facts  and  laws  by  which  it 
is  attempted  to  enthrall  it,  will  find  in  them  a  new  meta- 
physics ;  and  that  the  soul,  in  its  turn  sounding  the  depths 
of  this  new  metaphysics,  will  find  there  the  foundation  of  all 
religions.  Such  a  law  of  return  is  in  such  perfect  conformity 
with  the  nature  of  things,  that  the  founder  of  the  school  of 
which  I  speak  has  himself  given  us  an  example  of  it.  Above 
this  first,  and  purely  positive,  philosophy,  a  second  has  been 
set  up,  which  is  nothing  else  than  a  metaphysics  and  a  religion. 

Indeed,  it  might  be  maintained,  that,  if  there  is  such  a 
retrogressive  movement,  there  should  also  be,  by  a  natural 
and  foreseen  oscillation,  a  new  evolution  of  criticism,  which 
would  bring  back  the  three  states  successively,  and  would 
be  again  followed  by  another  retrogression,  and  so  on,  ad 
infinitum.  Why  not  ?  This  application  of  Vico's 1  law  of 
ricorsi  might  be  correct,  without  necessarily  implying  that 
humanity  must  always  turn  in  a  circle,  and  never  advance. 
It  may,  as  has  been  said,  turn  in  a  spiral,  in  such  a  way,  that, 
at  each  new  revolution,  each  phase  of  the  preceding  one  will 
be  repeated,  but  in  a  higher  degree.  This  double  movement 
of  the  approach  and  retrogression  of  humanity  in  relation  to 
its  natural  centre,  which  is  the  centre  of  all  things,  seems 
to  have  been  foreboded  by  some  philosophical  schools  of 
antiquity,  who  also  held  that  there  was  a  double  movement 
in  the  universe,  one  of  ascent,  the  other  of  descent  (080s  avu> 
koltoj)  ;  and  seems  to  me  quite  in  conformity  with  the  essence 
of  human  nature,  which  is  at  once  circumscribed  and 
infinite. 

Moreover,  we  have  already  made  an  important  observa- 

1  Aug.  Comte's  theory  of  the  "three  states  "  is  merely  a  revival,  under  a 
new  form,  of  Vico's  theory  of  the  "three  ages" — the  divine,  or  theocratic, 
the  heroic,  and  the  historic,  ages.  But  Vico  admits  that  there  is  an  alternate 
return  of  these  three  ages,  which  is  what  he  calls  the  ricorsi  (reflux). 


RELIGION.  475 

tion,  which  limits  the  operation  of  the  law  just  suggested. 
This  is,  that  every  man  and  every  nation  does  not  pass 
through  these  three  stages  at  the  same  time,  nor  with  the 
same  velocity ;  so  that  the  three  are  always  contemporaneous. 
Still  further,  the  individual  man  does  not  always  pass  through 
them  in  the  order  indicated.  The  three  states  may  even 
coexist.  We  see  some  scientists  who  are  more  credulous 
than  some  philosophers,  and  some  philosophers  who  are  more 
positive  than  some  scientists.  From  these  remarks  it  follows 
that  the  law  in  question  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  there 
are  three  states  of  thought  —  faith,  reflective  thought,  and 
experience  —  and  that  these  three  states  are  mingled  in  a 
very  complicated  way  in  every  man.  This  proves  nothing 
for  or  against  the  future  prospects  of  religion  among  men. 
From  the  positive  point  of  view,  there  are  as  many  reasons 
for  affirming  the  perpetuity  of  religion  as  for  maintaining 
that  it  will  gradually  disappear.  Doubtless  the  theological 
or  religious  state  is  only  subjective,  as  has  been  said.  But  it 
is  far  from  being  proved  that  it  should  therefore  be  sup- 
pressed, for  there  is  no  reason  why  such  a  subjective  state 
may  not  be  essential  to  humanity.  Paternal  love  is  also  a 
subjective  sentiment.  Shall  we  say,  therefore,  that  it  ought 
to  give  place  to  physiological  or  juridical  science,  one  of 
which  explains  the  laws  of  generation,  and  the  other  the  ab- 
stract laws  of  paternal  authority  ?  I  repeat,  then,  that,  if  reli- 
gion is  proved  to  be  a  subjective  fact,  this  is  not  sufficient  to 
make  it  disappear  from  the  human  soul.  Though  religion 
is  not  science,  it  does  not  follow  that  it  is  nothing  at  all ; 
for  it  is  neither  self-evident,  nor  possible,  that  science  should 
be  substituted  for  every  thing  else,  and  that  it  alone  should 
completely  fill  the  soul  of  man. 

Another  philosopher,1  taking  a  psychological  stand-point, 
attempted  to  furnish  the  demonstration  which  the  positivist 
school   failed  to  give,  and  to  prove  that  religion  is  only  a 

1  See  M.  Vacherot's  fine  work  on  Religion  — &  book  which  is  profoundly 
religious  in  tone,  although  it  appears  to  decide  against  all  religion. 


476  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

transitory  state  and  an  inferior  stage  of  civilization.  His 
demonstration  is  based  upon  a  comparison  of  the  species  and 
the  individual.  According  to  him,  religion  belongs  to  a 
period  in  the  history  of  humanity  which  corresponds  to  the 
state  of  childhood  or  youth  in  the  history  of  the  individual. 
In  the  life  of  the  individual  we  see,  indeed,  that  youth  is 
the  period  of  imagination  and  sensibility;  that  is  to  say, 
of  the  tendency  to  believe,  and  to  love  the  mysterious  and 
unknown.  This  disposition  is  soon  followed  by  reflection, 
which  destroys  the  beliefs  of  youth ;  and  by  experience, 
which  contradicts  them.  The  same  is  true  of  the  human 
race.  Religion  is  a  brilliant  and  poetical  phenomenon, 
which  belongs  to  the  youth  of  humanity:  hence  it  should 
vanish  gradually,  as  humanity  approaches  its  maturity. 

The  error  in  this  explanation  is,  that  it  assumes  the  very 
point  in  question :  that  is,  that  religion  is  a  pure  illusion,  a 
dream  of  the  imagination.  If  it  is  but  this,  then  it  will 
inevitably  disappear,  or  will  at  least  tend  to  disappear  in 
time ;  and  every  enlightened  mind  should  contribute  to  dis- 
sipate its  illusions,  as  those  of  sorcery  and  judicial  astrology 
have  already  been  dispelled.  But  is  it  true,  that,  when  we 
have  taken  from  religion  all  that  is  imaginary,  nothing  will 
remain?  Those  who  believe  in  the  perpetuity  of  religion 
believe  that  it  is  something  more  than  a  mirage  of  the  imagi- 
nation, and  that  within  its  varying  forms  there  lies  enveloped 
an  eternally  living  truth.  Doubtless  religion  belongs  to  the 
domain  of  sentiment,  rather  than  to  that  of  reason.  But  it  is 
questionable  whether  sentiment  belongs  only  to  childhood 
and  youth,  either  in  the  individual  or  in  the  race.  As  to 
the  individual,  we  do  not  see  that  the  sentiments  always  dis- 
appear with  age.  If  they  are  sometimes  congealed  by  expe- 
rience, this  is  a  misfortune  rather  than  a  benefit :  it  is  not 
this  which  makes  maturity  superior  to  youth.  It  may  even 
be  said,  that,  in  noble  souls,  sentiment  grows  and  deepens 
with  the  flight  of  time.  Hence,  if  religion  is  a  sentiment, 
I  do  not  see  why  it  may  not  exist  so  long  as  humanity 
endures. 


RELIGION.  477 

Moreover,  without  exaggerating  the  influence  of  sentiment 
among  men,  it  may  be  believed  that  it  unites  them  more 
closely  one  with  another  than  does  reason.  Friendship,  love, 
and  patriotism,  go  far  beyond  cold  reason.  Why  should 
there  not  be  a  sentiment  which  will  penetrate  more  deeply 
into  the  nature  of  things  than  the  scientific  or  philosophical 
faculty  can  do  ? 

Besides,  the  argument  drawn  from  the  individual  does  not 
prove  any  thing  as  applied  to  the  race.  Though  some  indi- 
viduals pass  from  faith  to  doubt,  from  doubt  to  denial,  it  does 
not  follow  that  the  same  thing  takes  place  in  all.  Certain 
men  do  not  have  any  religious  sentiment,  or  they  have  lost 
it :  that  does  not  prove  that  the  sentiment  is  a  delusion.  We 
may  apply  to  them  the  words  of  the  comic  poet :  "  This  man 
certainly  does  not  love  music :  that  is  no  argument  against 
music."  Many  men  have  no  feeling  for  the  beautiful ;  others 
lack  appreciation  of  nature  ;  some  even  seem  to  be  entirely 
destitute  of  any  moral  sentiment.  But  does  any  one  believe, 
therefore,  that  humanity  will  ever  lose  the  sentiment  for 
beauty,  and  that  it  will  renounce  all  morality?  The  same 
author  admits  that  the  sentiment  of  the  ideal  belongs  to  the 
essence  of  religion.  Now,  many  men  have  no  sentiment  of 
the  ideal,  and  claim  exultantly  that  it  can  never  survive  the 
clear  light  of  experience.  Hence  the  same  critical  labor 
which,  according  to  this  author,  will  destroy  the  religious 
sentiment,  ought  also,  even  a  fortiori,  to  break  up  and  dis- 
solve the  much  more  fragile  one,  which  he  calls  the  sentiment 
of  the  ideal.1 

1  I  will  readily  grant,  with  M.  Vacherot,  that  the  religious  sentiment  is 
simply  the  sentiment  of  the  ideal;  and  it  is  precisely  this  which  I  analyze 
farther,  resolving  it  into  two  elements,  one  metaphysical,  the  other  moral  — 
the  one,  the  sentiment  of  the  infinite;  the  other,  faith  in  divine  goodness.  As 
to  the  objective  reality  of  what  the  author  calls  the  ideal,  this  is  a  metaphysi- 
cal question  which  it  is  not  my  province  to  treat  of  here.  I  will  only  say,  from 
a  purely  practical  point  of  view,  that  moral  action  presupposes  faith  in  the 
possibility  of  a  progressive  realization  of  the  ideal  in  this  world.  Now,  such 
a  possibility  is  incomprehensible,  except  on  condition  that  it  is  rooted  in  the 
nature  cf  things.    There  is,  then,  a  reason  for  things,  which  determines  them 


478  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

But,  it  may  be  said,  nobody  claims  that  religion  will  dis- 
appear utterly  from  humanity;  for  it  is  well  known  that 
there  will  always  be  inferior  states  of  consciousness,  and  it 
is  also  admitted  that  religion  may  have  a  relative  value  which 
will  always  make  it  more  or  less  useful  to  mankind.  It  is 
enough  to  say,  that  it  is  the  tendency  of  humanity  —  and  a 
legitimate  one  —  to  disengage  itself  from  it  gradually. 

This  concession  is  not  enough  for  me,  and  I  will  press  the 
question  farther.  What  concerns  each  one  of  us  is,  not  to 
know  whether,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  religion  will  always  exist 
— as  if  they  wished  to  re-assure  us  by  affirming  the  perpetu- 
ity of  such  a  curb :  the  question  is,  whether  religion  ought 
to  disappear  in  principle,  even  if  it  should  continue  to  live 
by  its  acquired  momentum.  We  know  quite  well,  for  in- 
stance, that  delusions  and  errors  —  which  are  also  sometimes 
useful  —  will  never  be  entirely  abolished  among  men.  But 
they  should  be  so,  and  we  all  ought  to  labor  to  that  end. 
Thus  with  religion :  if  it  is  an  illusion,  if  it  represents  an 
inferior  state  of  consciousness,  though  it  might  be  relatively 
good,  yet  I  say  that  it  ought  to  disappear ;  that  it  is  the  duty 
of  each  individual  one  of  us  to  do  his  part  toward  destroying 
it,  whether  in  himself  or  in  others.  Well!  regarding  the 
question  from  this  exact  and  strict  point  of  view,  I  am  one 
of  those  who  believe,  not  only  that  it  cannot  disappear,  but 
that  it  ought  not  to  do  so ;  that  it  is  an  essential  element  of 
humanity. 

But  what  is  religion?  Of  what  does  this  essential  ele- 
ment, which  we  believe  ought  to  exist  under  every  change 
of  exterior  form,  consist?  Religion  is  generally  confounded 
with  belief  in  the  supernatural;  but  this  is  only  the  form 
of  religion,  not  its  essence.  Imagine,  on  the  one  hand,  a  man 
who  believes  in  the  miracles,  in  revelation,  in  every  thing 

in  the  sense  of  good  or  better;  which  could  not  be  true  on  the  hypothesis  of  a 
nature  essentially  had,  which  would  will  only  evil,  and  would  combat  the 
good;  nor  even  on  the  hypothesis  of  an  indifferent  nature,  which  would  forever 
rtoss  us  back  and  forth  from  one  to  the  other. 


RELIGION.  479 

maintained  by  the  Church,  but  in  whose  heart  there  is  not 
a  spark  of  love  for  God  or  for  mankind.  Shall  we  say  that 
he  is  religious  ?  Contrast  with  him  the  Good  Samaritan,  or 
a  pious  pagan  like  Epictetus,  and  shall  we  not  say ;  There 
is  a  religious  man !  Religion  requires  that  we  shall  add  the 
spirit  to  the  letter.  Now,  one  who  has  the  spirit  without 
the  letter,  is  more  religious  than  one  who  has  the  letter 
without  the  spirit.  Marcus  Aurelius  is  more  religious  than 
Torquemada. 

Hence  the  essence  of  religion  is  not  the  supernatural,  a 
faith  in  miracles,  but  it  is  "  the  love  of  God  and  of  man." 
This  is  all  the  law,  according  to  Jesus  Christ ;  and  why  should 
we  be  more  exacting  than  he  ?  If  there  is  no  morality  with- 
out religion,  there  is  also  no  religion  without  morality ;  and 
true  piety  cannot  exist  without  charity.  To  love  God  with- 
out loving  men  is  only  a  more  exalted  form  of  egotism. 
Thus  the  love  of  our  neighbor  forms  part  of  the  religious 
sentiment,  but  it  is  not  the  whole  of  it.  There  still  remains 
the  love  of  God ;  and  what  should  we  understand  by  this? 

The  love  of  God  is  a  complex  sentiment  which  requires 
analysis.  It  includes  first  a  metaphysical,  and  second  a 
moral,  element. 

1.  Metaphysically,  the  love  of  God  is  the  sentiment  of  the 
infinite,  the  need  of  attaching  one's  self  to  the  absolute,  the 
eternal,  the  immutable,  to  that  which  is  true  in  itself — in 
a  word,  to  the  Being.  Man,  if  he  considers  himself  with  any 
seriousness,  or  even  but  superficially,  finds  that  he  is  small, 
weak,  and  miserable.  "  Oh,  how  utterly  nothing  we  are ! " 
cries  Bossuet.  Homo  sibi  ipsi  vilescit,  says  St.  Bernard.  Man 
feels  that  his  being  is  fragile,  that  he  holds  life  by  a  thread, 
that  he  is  passing  away.  The  goods  of  this  world  are  perish- 
able. The  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away.  We  know 
neither  what  we  are,  nor  whence  we  come,  nor  whither  we 
go,  nor  what  sustains  us  during  the  short  period  of  our  life. 
We  are  suspended  between  heaven  and  earth  —  between  two 
infinities.     We  rest  upon  shifting  sands.     All  these  strong 


480  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

words  from  mystical  and  religious  writers  express  admirably 
the  need  of  the  absolute,  the  immutable,  and  the  perfect,  with 
which  pious  souls  are  particularly  exercised,  but  which  all 
feel  to  some  extent,  and  satisfy  as  best  they  may.  All  our 
efforts  to  attain  the  absolute  in  science,  in  art,  and  even  in 
politics,  are  only  forms  under  which  this  need  of  the  infinite 
manifests  itself.  The  insatiable  pursuit  of  the  gratification 
of  the  passions  is  also,  under  a  vain  show,  the  same  want. 
We  soon  tire  of  the  goods  which  we  have  thus  obtained,  and 
we  seek  for  others.  Qucecumque  adfuerint,  says  St.  Bernard, 
semper  eris  inquietus.  In  the  same  way  Plato  says  that  we, 
like  Homer's  old  men,  pursue  the  shadow  of  Helen,  instead 
of  her  true  self. 

All  great  metaphysicians  have  called  this  sentiment  of  the 
eternal  and  the  infinite  the  ultimate  basis  of  morality.  Plato, 
Plotinus,  Malebranche,  and  Spinoza  command  us  to  seek 
eternal  goods  rather  than  those  that  are  perishable.  This 
sentiment,  becoming  self-conscious,  and  seeking  for  that 
which  is  good  in  itself,  instead  of  that  which  is  but  the 
shadow  of  good,  is  the  most  profound  and  essential  element 
of  the  religious  sentiment.  It  cannot  be  said  that  every  man 
experiences  it,  nor  that  all  feel  it  to  the  same  extent.  But 
when  we  interrogate  great  religious  souls,  like  St.  Bernard 
or  Gerson,  we  see  that  the  ultimate  and  noblest  form  of  the 
religious  spirit  is  this  need  of  union  with  the  infinite  —  of 
communication  with  God.  This  is  the  sentiment  which 
gives  grandeur  and  beauty  to  mysticism.  To  this  same 
sentiment  Christianity  affords  the  highest  and  purest  satis- 
faction in  the  sublime  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist. 

2.  This  is  the  metaphysical  element  of  religion:  next 
comes  the  moral  element.  God  appears  to  the  human  soul, 
not  only  as  infinite,  immense,  inexhaustible,  and  eternal.  It 
goes  farther,  and,  with  respectful  boldness,  calls  him  the 
Father,  Man  is  not  only  weak  and  imperfect.  He  is  also 
sinful  and  suffering:  evil  is  his  natural  condition.  The 
fragility  of  our  being,  and  its  limitations,  are  an  evil  in  them- 


RELIGION.  431 

selves ;  but  these  are  the  least  of  all ;  they  are  what  the 
schools  call  metaphysical  evil.  But  humanity  suffers  a 
double  evil,  much  more  real,  much  more  poignant  —  grief 
and  sin.  Against  physical  ill  —  pain  —  it  has  but  the  feeble 
resource  of  prudence :  against  moral  evil  it  has  but  one 
weapon,  weak  indeed  —  free  will.  Pelagianism  represents 
free  will  as  all-powerful.  It  makes  us  seem  the  masters  of 
the  universe.  But  experience  proves,  on  the  contrary,  how 
weak  we  are,  how  many  times  liberty  yields ;  and  Kant  him- 
self, in  spite  of  his  stoicism,  inquires  whether  a  single  virtu- 
ous act  was  ever  performed  in  this  world.  How  vain  is  such 
a  virtue !  To  sum  up :  life,  notwithstanding  its  grand 
aspects,  and  some  sublime  and  exquisite  joys,  life  is  evil. 
Every  thing  ends  badly ;  and  death,  which  terminates  vail 
woes,  is  itself  the  greatest  of  all.  The  human  soul,  says 
Plato,  u  raises  its  eyes  toward  heaven,  like  a  bird."  It  calls 
for  a  remedy,  for  aid,  for  deliverance.  Libera  nos  a  malo 
is  the  cry  of  every  religion.  God  is  the  deliverer  and  the 
consoler.  We  love  good,  and  we  do  evil :  we  long  impa- 
tiently for  happiness,  and  we  encounter  only  misery.  This 
is  the  contradiction  which  Pascal  describes  with  such  burn- 
ing eloquence.  This  contradiction  must  be  removed.  A 
benevolent  being  must  come  to  redeem  poor  humanity  from 
grief  and  sin. 

Many  persons  regard  belief  in  a  future  life,  or  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul,  as  being  the  essence  of  religion.  Without 
the  hope  of  gaining  paradise,  who  would  think  of  God?  But 
this  is  to  reverse  the  terms.  Paradise  itself  is  nothing  to 
the  true  believer :  God  is  every  thing.  If  the  future  life  is 
a  necessary  consequence  of  the  divine  justice  and  goodness, 
it  will  come,  never  doubt  it.  If  not,  we  have  nothing  to 
ask:  that  does  not  concern  us.  What  does  concern  us  is, 
to  know  what  we  ought  to  do  here  below,  and  to  have  the 
strength  to  do  it.  Vita  est  rneditatio  vita?,  non  mortis,  said 
Spinoza.  But  to  live,  and  live  well,  one  must  believe  in  life, 
believe  in  its  healthy  and  holy  significance,  believe  that  it  is 


482  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

not  a  game,  nor  a  mystification,  but  that  it  has  been  given  us 
by  the  principle  of  good,  and  for  the  success  of  good. 

The  essence  of  religion  is,  then,  belief  in  the  goodness  of 
God.  A  critical  writer  of  Germany,  Feuerbach,  has  made 
the  profound  remark,  that  religion  consists  in  making  human 
attributes  divine.  Thus,  according  to  him ;  "  God  is  good," 
signifies  ;  "  Goodness  is  divine."  "  God  is  just,"  signifies  ; 
"  Justice  is  divine."  The  boldness  of  Christianity,  its  pro- 
found, pathetic  beauty,  its  great  moral  efficacy,  lie  in  the 
fact  that  it  has  deified  our  miseries,  and  that  instead  of  say- 
ing, "  Pain  is  divine,  death  is  divine  ; "  it  has  said,  "  God  has 
suffered,  God  has  died."  In  a  word,  according  to  the  same 
author,  God  "  is  the  human  heart  deified."  Nothing  could 
be  more  true  and  beautiful,  but  in  a  different  sense  from  that 
intended  by  the  author.  If  God  himself  were  not  all  good- 
ness, the  human  heart  would  contain  something  divine,  and 
God  himself  would  not  be  divine  at  all !  The  heart  feels 
that  it  is  more  than  all  things  else ;  but,  to  believe  in  itself, 
it  must  believe  that  it  comes  from  above,  and  is  derived 
from  a  source  that  is  purer  than  itself. 

Here  we  see  the  connecting  link  between  religion  and 
morality.  Perhaps  religion  may  not  be  the  theoretical  basis 
of  morality,  but  it  is  the  foundation  of  its  efficacy.  Kant 
has  shown  this  clearly,  in  making  the  existence  of  God  the 
postulate  of  morality.  The  moral  law,  in  fact,  implies  the 
supposition  that  the  world  can  conform  to  this  law.  But 
how  can  this  be  believed  possible,  if  this  world  is  the  effect 
of  a  blind  and  indifferent  necessity?  "Since  it  is  our  duty," 
he  says,  "  to  strive  for  the  realization  of  the  sovereign  good, 
it  is  not  only  our  right,  but  it  is  a  necessity  arising  from  the 
duty,  that  we  should  believe  in  the  possibility*  of  this  sover- 
eign good,  which  is  only  possible  on  condition  of  God's 
existence." l  "  Suppose,"  he  says  in  another  place,2  "  an 
honest  man,  like  Spinoza  for  example,  should  be  firmly  con- 

1  Kant,  Critique  of  Practical  Reason,  I.,  ii.,  chap,  ii.,  §  v. 

2  Kant,  Kritik  der  Urtheilskraft. 


RELIGION.  483 

vinced  that  there  is  no  God,  and  that  there  is  no  future  life. 
He  would  disinterestedly  accomplish  (undoubtedly)  all  the 
good  which  this  holy  law  suggests  to  his  activity.  But  his 
efforts  are  limited;  though  he  may  find  here  and  there  in 
nature  an  accidental  concurrence,  he  can  never  expect  a 
regular  or  constant  concordance  with  the  end  which  he  feels 
obliged  to  pursue.  Fraud,  violence,  and  envy,  will  cease- 
lessly surround  him,  though  he  is  honest,  peaceable,  and 
kind.  The  good  people  whom  he  encounters  will  vainly 
merit  happiness :  nature,  which  has  no  respect  for  this  con- 
sideration, exposes  them,  like  every  animal  on  earth,  to 
maladies,  to  evils,  and  to  premature  death,  until  a  vast  tomb 
swallows  all  in  the  gulf  of  the  blind  matter  from  which  they 
came  forth.  Thus  this  honest  man  should  abandon,  as  im- 
possible of  attainment,  the  end  which  the  law  requires  him 
to  seek ;  or,  if  he  persists  in  remaining  faithful  to  the  interior 
voice  of  his  moral  destiny,  he  must,  from  a  practical  point  of 
view,  recognize  the  existence  of  a  moral  cause  in  this  world 
—  that  is  to  say,  God."  Thus,  according  to  Kant,  religion  — 
that  is,  belief  in  the  existence  of  God  —  is  required,  not  as  a 
theoretical  foundation  for  morality,  but  to  render  it  practi- 
cally possible.  "The  honest  man  may  say,  'I  will  that 
there  should  be  a  God?  " 1 

In  the  same  sense  I  make  religion  the  practical  condition 
of  morality.  Undoubtedly  the  exterior  success  of  the  law 
does  not  seem  to  be  essential  to  the  idea  of  that  law ;  and, 
so  far  as  his  own  happiness  is  concerned,  I  grant  that  the 
wise  man  may  set  all  consideration  of  this  aside.  But  he  can- 
not set  aside  all  consideration  for  the  happiness  of  others,  nor 
can  he,  speaking  generally,  be  indifferent  to  a  certain  state  of 
perfection  possible  for  human  society.  For  instance,  if  man- 
kind must  always  be  either  apes  or  tigers,  given  over  to  low 
and  ferocious  instincts,  as  some  pessimistic  or  misanthropic 
philosophers  maintain,  is  it  credible,  that,  when  fully  per- 
suaded of  this  sad  truth,  the  morally  best  endowed  of  men, 

1  Kant,  Critique  0/  Practical  Reason. 


484  THE  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

and  those  most  deeply  convinced  of  the  obligation  of  obedi- 
ence to  the  law  of  duty,  would  have  the  strength  necessary 
to  continue  the  fulfilment  of  good  which  could  produce 
only  inappreciable  and  imperceptible  results?  Belief  in 
virtue  is  the  fundamental  condition  for  becoming,  or  remain- 
ing, a  virtuous  man.  But  to  believe  in  virtue  is  to  believe 
that  it  can  exist  in  the  world,  and  can  do  good  there ;  it  is 
to  believe  that  nature  ought  to  be  capable  of  being  trans- 
formed according  to  the  law  of  good ;  finally,  it  is  to  believe 
that  the  universe  is  obedient  to  the  principle  of  good,  not 
to  that  of  evil  —  to  Ormuzd,  not  to  Ahriman.  As  to  an  in- 
different nature,  one  that  was  neither  good  nor  evil,  it  would 
leave  us  equally  uncertain  as  to  the  possible  success  of  our 
efforts,  equally  distrustful  of  the  value  of  our  moral  beliefs. 
In  one  word,  to  conclude,  if  God  were  an  illusion,  why 
would  not  virtue  be  an  illusion  also  ?  That  I  may  be  able 
to  believe  in  the  dignity  and  excellence  of  my  soul,  and  of 
the  souls  of  other  men,  my  brethren,  I  must  believe  in  a 
supreme  principle  of  dignity  and  excellence.  From  noth- 
ing, nothing  comes.  If  there  is  no  being  who  loves  men, 
and  who  loves  me,  why  am  I  obliged  to  love  them  ?  If  the 
world  is  not  good,  if  it  was  not  made  for  good,  if  good  is 
not  its  origin  and  its  end,  what  have  I  to  do  here  below,  and 
what  need  I  care  for  this  ant-hill  of  which  I  form  a  part? 
Let  it  get  on  as  well  as  it  can !  Why  should  I  take  so  much 
trouble  for  so  small  a  result  ?  Imagine  a  wise  citizen,  lov- 
ing civil  and  political  liberty,  and  ready  to  suffer  any  thing 
in  order  to  gain  it  for  his  country.  So  long  as  he  believes 
that  this  is  possible,  wisdom  as  well  as  virtue  will  command 
him  to  consecrate  himself  entirely  to  this  work.  But  let 
experience  demonstrate  to  him  that  such  an  achievement  is 
a  chimera ;  that  his  fellow-citizens  are  too  cowardly  or  too 
vicious  to  be  worthy,  or  capable,  of  enjoying  the  good  which 
he  desires  to  assure  to  them ;  suppose  that  he  sees  every- 
where about  him  nothing  but  cupidity,  servility,  unbridled 
and  abominable  passions ;  finally,  let  him  acquire  the  convic- 


RELIGION.  485 

tion  that  liberty  is  a  delusion  among  men  or  at  least  among 
such  a  people  —  does  any  one  believe  that  he  could,  does 
any  one  believe  even  that  he  should,  continue  to  waste  his 
energies  upon  an  undertaking  which  can  never  be  successful  ? 
Again,  I  can  and  I  should  forget  myself,  and  leave  to  eternal 
justice  or  to  divine  goodness  the  care  of  watching  over  my 
destiny ;  but  I  cannot  forget,  I  ought  not  to  be  indifferent 
to,  the  reign  of  justice  in  the  world.  I  must  be  able  to  say : 
Adveniat  regnum  tuum.  How  can  I  do  this,  if  there  is  not  a 
Father,  who,  in  intrusting  to  us  the  task  of  bringing  about 
his  reign,  has  rendered  it  at  least  possible,  when  creating  the 
world  ?  And  how  can  I  believe,  that,  out  of  the  great  void 
into  which  some  seek  to  reduce  us  all,  there  can  come  a 
reign  of  holy  and  just  wills,  united  by  the  laws  of  respect 
and  of  love  ?  The  great  Stoic,  Kant,  has  depicted  the  ne- 
cessity for  this  reign  of  law  more  strongly  than  any  one 
else,  without  borrowing  any  arguments  from  theology ;  but 
he  saw  clearly,  that  this  abstract  and  ideal  order  would  re- 
main a  mere  conception  if  there  were  not  added  to  it  what 
he  rightly  calls  "practical  faith,  moral  faith,"  in  the  exist- 
ence of  God.  This  moral  faith  is  all  that  I  have  attempted 
here  to  defend.  The  theoretical  demonstration  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  natural  theology  lies  outside  of  my  chosen  field. 


INDEX 


Absolute  decrees,  doctrine  of,  36. 

Activity,  excellence  as  measured  by, 
62. 

Aristotle,  on  the  happiness  of  Action, 
50 ;  on  the  specific  nature  of 
pleasure,  70  ;  on  happiness  as  the 
supreme  good,  74;  on  the  in- 
equality of  mankind,  342. 

Augustine,  St.,  on  happiness,  74. 

Bain,  Alexander,  his  theory  of  con- 
science, 269,  271,  et  seq. 
Barbeyrac,   on  the  theory  of  moral 

obligation,  168. 
Beaussire,  Emile,  on  the  foundation 

of  moral  obligation,  167,  169. 
Bentham,    his  view  of  pleasure,  11; 

on  happiness,  77. 
Bile,  Erard,  religious  toleration  of, 

297. 
Brahminism,    morality    of,    338;   et 

seq. 
Buddhism,  principles  of,  52;  morality 

of,  342. 

Casuistry,  the  science  of,  242  et  seq. ; 
cases  of,  247  et  seq. 

Christianity,  its  influence  on  philo- 
sophic conceptions  of  the  good 
and  beautiful,  113. 

Cicero,  on  the  stoical  philosophy, 
32. 

Confucius,  his  moral  system,  344 
et  seq. 

Conscience,  the  criterion  of  morality f 
262  et  seq.;  its  judgments,  264 
et  seq. ;  the  law  of,  267  et  seq. ;  the 
individual,  271. 

Crime,  explanation  of,  431  et  seq. 

Crusius,  moral  theories  of,  36. 


Cumberland,  on  the  stoical  philos- 
ophy, 32. 

Descartes,  on  the  supreme  good,  75. 

Determinism,  368  et  seq.',  three 
kinds  of,  372. 

Divine  Will,  doctrine  of,  36, 166. 

Duties,  definite  and  indefinite,  190 
et  seq.;  of  justice,  195  et  seq.;  to 
ourselves,  199 ;  a  criterion  of, 
207  ;  to  our  fellow  creatures,  224 
et  seq. ;  toward  God,  228  et  seq. ; 
owed  by  God,  230  ;  four  classes 
of,  234  ;  different  theories  con- 
cerning, 235  et  seq.;  conflicting, 
242  et  seq. 

Duty,  the  philosophy  of,  23  ;  altru- 
istic, 101;  the  law  of,  138  et  seq.; 
historical  evolution  of  the  idea 
of,  150  ;  nature  of,  152  ;  essential 
characteristics  of,  160  et  seq.; 
•  immutability  and  universality  of 
the  law  of,  164 ;  foundation  of, 
165  et  seq.;  distinguished  from 
merit,  176  et  seq. ;  different  the- 
ories of,  183  et  seq. 

Epicurean  philosophy,  10. 
Excellence,  the  principle  of,  46. 

Fatalism,  365  ;  of  Spinoza,  367. 

Fenelon,  his  doctrine  of  pure  duty, 
83  ;  his  maxim  of  the  relation  of 
duties,  245,  253,  281. 

Fichte,  on  the  principle  of  moral 
obligation,  173 ;  his  theory  of 
duty,  237;  his  theory  of  con- 
science, 263,  266. 

Fourier,  Charles,  on  the  irrationality 
of  duty,  140,  141. 

487 


488 


INDEX. 


Franck,  Ad.,  his  idea  of  the  law  of 

duty,  218  et  seq. 
Free  Will,  365  ;  in  relation  to   sin, 

444  et  seq. 

Garve,  his  definition  of  perfection, 
57  and  note. 

Gerson,  on  the  divine  will,  167. 

Good,  definitions  of,  9,  19  et  seq.,  85  ; 
as  a  principle  of  duty,  25;  Stoics' 
view  of,  66;  universal  good,  96; 
ultimate  idea  of,  96  ;  objective 
and  subjective,  107 ;  the  abso- 
lute, 119  et  seq.;  as  related  to 
duty,  175  et  seq.;  different  mean- 
ings of  the  term,  381  et  seq. 

G'uyon,  Madam,  her  doctrine  of  pure 
duty,  83. 

Happiness,  principle  of,  69  et  seq.; 

as  opposed -to   pleasure,  80,  83, 

et  seq. ;   compatible  with  virtue, 

426. 
Harmony,  the  principle  of,  54. 
Hegel,  his  definition  of  liberty,  372. 
Herbart,  doctrines  of  his  school,  113, 

114. 
Hutcheson's  doctrine  of    the   moral 

sense,  49. 

Ideal,  the,  essential  to  moral  science, 
129. 

Imperatives,  the  categorical  and  hy- 
pothetical, 155. 

Instinct,  moral,  98. 

Intention,  the  theory  of,  275  et  seq. 

Jansen  ists  and  their  theory  of  proba- 

bilism,  292  et  seq. 
Jesuits  and   their   theory   of  proba- 

bilism,  292  et  seq. 
Jouffroy,  Theodore,  his  definition  of 

good,  67. 

Kant,  his  views  of  Morals,  4,  25  et 
seq. ;  his  law  of  duty,  24,  25  ;  his 
theory  of  good,  26;  his  two  kinds 
of  good,  30,  33,  34  et  seq.;  his 
theory  of  humanity  as  an  end 
unto  itself,  39  et  seq.;  on  social 


duties,  100  ;  on  subjective  good, 
107;  his  theory  of  duty,  180,  185, 
223,  232;  his  theory  of  conscience, 
265;  his  theory  of  intention,  278, 
280;  his  views  of  moral  charac- 
ter, 353;  his  analysis  of  the 
moral  law,  354  et  seq. ;  his  the- 
ory of  liberty,  386  et  seq.;  his 
theory  of  sin,  437  ;  his  theory  of 
virtue,  465. 
Kirchmann  on  the  origin  of  morality, 
147,  note. 

Law,  definition  of,  152 ;  different 
classes  of,  153  et  seq. 

Leibnitz,  his  distinction  between 
natural  and  moral  good,  29  ;  his 
definition  of  perfection,  58,  note  ; 
his  theory  of  perfection,  90 ;  his 
definition  of  right,  210,  212  ;  on 
fatalism,  366  ;  his  definition  of 
liberty,  372  ;  on  moral  action, 
380. 

Liberty,  laws  wrongly  deduced  from, 
43  et  seq.  ;  regarded  in  two 
aspects,  364,  et  seq.;  definitions 
of,  372 ;  the  degrees  of,  376. 

Ligori,  Father,  on  mental  reservation, 
284,  note  ;  290. 

Locke,  his  view  of  moral  impulse, 
379. 

Love,  defined,  384. 

Malebranche,  on  the  relations  of  per- 
fection, 46,  47. 

Man,  the  ideal,  131. 

Manu,  laws  of,  334  et  seq. 

Mencius,  moral  system  of,  344  et  seq. 

Mental  reservation,  283  et  seq. 

Merit,  as  related  to  duty,  176  ;  de- 
fined, 448  et  seq. ;  and  obligation, 
449  et  seq. ;  essential  elements  of, 
451 ;  degrees  of,  453  ;  moral  in- 
tention necessary  to,  455. 

Mill,  J.  Stuart,  his  views  of  utili- 
tarianism, 14,  91. 

Molinos,  the  Quietist,  his  doctrine  of 
pure  duty,  83. 

Montaigne,  on  the  diversity  of  hu- 
man opinion,  310. 


INDEX. 


489 


Moral  action,  the  true  principle  of, 
303. 

Moral  ideas,  distinction  in,  183 ; 
their  development,  349  et  seq. 

Moral  instinct,  98. 

Moral  law,  theory  of,  460  et  seq. 

Moral  principles,  false  deductions 
concerning  them,  313  et  seq.; 
their  existence  universal,  331  et 
seq. 

Moral  science,  three  fundamental 
ideas  of,  2  ;  objective  defined,  3  ; 
subjective  defined,  id. 

Morality  as  related  to  good,  177;  false 
theories  concerning,  187 ;  cri- 
terion of,  261 ;  and  religion,  472. 

Morals,  three  elements  of,  401. 

Mystics,  the,  theory  of,  236. 

Nicole,  on  probabilism,  293,  297,  298 

et  seq. 
Nirvana,  doctrine  of,  52,  467. 

Object  of  will  and  action,  2. 

Obligation,  moral,  principle  of,  139, 
140,  170  ;  foundation  of,  165  et 
seq.;  170  et  seq.;  its  extent,  179, 

Pascal,  on  moral  intuition,  283,  284; 
his  argument  for  the  existence 
of  God,  305  et  seq.;  on  the  di- 
versity of  human  opinion,  310. 

Perfection,  the  principle  of,  46  ;  defi- 
nition of,  47,  48,  59,  60  et  seq. ; 
the  idea  of,  explained,  53;  various 
theories  of,  122  et  seq. 

Personality,  56  ;  its  development  the 
foundation  of  Kant  and  Fichte's 
system,  63  ;  respect  for,  104 ;  its 
inviolability,  128,  216;  defined, 
469. 

Perversity,  innate,  435. 

Plato,  his  view  of  pleasure,  10  ;  on 
the  unity  of  mankind,  99  ;  on  the 
good,  112  et  seq.,  133  ;  his  theory 
of  moral  action,  378  et  seq.;  his 
view  of  virtue  and  vice,  401  et 
seq. 

Pleasure,  consideration  of,  9,  10  et 
seq. ;  utilitarian  view  of,  12  etseq. ; 
Aristotle's  view  of,  70  ;    Kant's 


view  of,  71  et  seq. :  classification 
of  by  moral  science,  120. 

Predestination,  366. 

Probability,  two  kinds  of,  293;  three 
doctrines  of,  301. 

Puffendorf,.  theory  of  moral  obliga- 
tion, 168. 

Quietists,  their  doctrine  of  pure  duty, 
83. 

Religion,  opinions  concerning,  472 
et  seq. 

Right,  definite  and  indefinite,  203  et 
seq. ;  the  idea  of,  210  et  seq. ;  as 
the  basis  of  duty,  210  ;  Leib-* 
nitz's  definition  of,  210,  212  ;  a 
moral  power,  212  et  seq.;  the 
basis  of,  214  et  seq.;  definition  of, 
220;  includes  individual  respon- 
sibility, 221;  OrV?.U  ^  v~.»r-»L 
oy-cA  <,v,  K~ ~J~*  Lf*' 

Schleiermacher,  his  division  of  moral 

ideas,  1. 
Schopenhauer,  doctrines  of,  52  ;  on 

happiness,   84;   on  the  idea  of 

duty,  138. 
Self-defense,  duty  of,  289. 
Self-devotion,  180. 
Self-preservation,  the  duty  of,  288. 
Senses,  the  life  of,  56. 
Sin,  the  liberty  of,  429  ;  original,  436  ; 

definition  of,  436. 
Soul,  the,  its  three  stages  of  life,  55. 
Spinoza,  his  definition  of  good,  19  ; 

his  definition  of  happiness,  46; 

principle  of  his  philosophy,  52; 

the    ultimate    principle    of   his 

morality,  231;    his   doctrine    of 

fatalism,  367. 
Stewart,   Dugald,  on  the  theory  of 

moral  obligation,  168. 
Stoics,  their    view  of  good,  31,  66, 

113  ;  on  human  personality,  104  ; 

their  doctrine  of  sin,  439  et  seq. 

Thomas,  St.,  on  happiness,  75. 
Truth,  objective  and  subjective,  107. 

Utilitarian  morality,  12;  Mill's  view 
of,  14  et  seq. ;  criticisms  of  Kant, 
37. 


490 


INDEX. 


Vacherot,  on  the  religious  sentiment, 
477,  note. 

Vice,  definitions  of,  107;  theories  of, 
402  et  seq. 

Virtue,  the  theories  of,  401  et  seq.; 
413  et  seq. ;  ideal,  406  ;  definitions 
of,  81,  107,  411  et  seq. ;  divisions 
of.  415  ;  progress  in,  416^  seq.; 
promoted  by  education,  422. 


Vivisection,  250. 

Whewell,  Dr.,  his  theory  of  con- 
science, 269,  273. 

Wiart,  Emile,  on  slavery,  93;  on  the 
higher  good,  id. 

Will,  the,  an  element  of  virtue,  409. 

Wollaston,  on  the  identity  of  the 
true  and  good,  106. 


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